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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIFT  OF 

Estate  of 
Jean  Howard  McDuffie 


/     2.  2- 


Enter  Madame 


Enter  Madame 

A  Play  in  Three  Acts 

By 
Gilda  Varesi  and  Dolly  Byrne 


Gilda  Varesi 
From  the  original  drawing  by  W.  T.  Benda 


G.  P.  Put-  kms 

>rk  and  London 

^re&3 


Enter  Madame 

A  Play  in  Three  Acts 
By 

Gilda  Varesi  and  Dolly  Byrne 


Introduction  by 
Alexander  Woollcott 


Frontispiece  by 
W.  T.  Benda 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  and  London 
Imichetbocfcer    press 
1921 


COPYRIGHT,  1921 

BY 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


> 


63  / 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


Produced  by 
Brock   Pemberton 
with  the  following  cast 


GERALD  FITZGERALD 

Madame's  husband     .      .    Mr.  Norman  Trevor 

MRS.  FLORA  PRESTON 

A  widow Miss  Jane  Meredith 

TAMAMOTO 

Mr.  Fitzgerald's  servant   .     Mr.  George  Moto 

JOHN  FITZGERALD 

His  son Mr.  Gavin  Muir 

ALINE  CHALMERS 

John's  fiancee   ....     Miss  Sheila  Hayes 

BICE 

Madame's  maid      .     .     .    Miss  Michelette  Burani 

THE  DOCTOR 

Her  personal  physician.      .     Mr.  Francis  M.  Verdi 

Miss  SMITH 

Her  secretary    ....    Miss  Minnie  Milne 

ARCHIMEDE 

Her  chef Mr.  William  E.Hallman 

MADAME  LISA  DELLA 

ROBBIA Miss  Gilda  Varesi 

Albert  Bannister,  Stage  Manager. 


459 


FOREWORD 

On  a  sweltering  evening  in  mid-August, 
1920 — a  night  of  rumbling  thunder  and 
wilted  collars  and  ruined  dispositions — 
this  comedy  called  Enter  Madame  slipped 
quietly  into  New  York  by  way  of  the  then 
idle  Garrick  Theatre  and  immediately  estab 
lished  itself  as  one  of  those  happy  plays  which 
cause  stampedes  at  the  box  office.  The  fame 
of  it  spread  with  unusual  rapidity.  Pilgrims 
to  the  great  city  always  arrive  with  one  hand 
guarding  their  luggage  and  the  other  extend 
ing  a  slip  of  paper,  on  which  they  have  jotted 
down  the  names  of  the  pieces  they  intend  (or 
rather  hope)  to  see  during  their  visit.  Long 
before  the  aforesaid  hot  spell  had  entirely 
abated,  it  was  noted  by  the  sensitive  ticket 
agents  that  one  play  was  recurring  persist- 


Foreword 

ently  in  all  those  aspiring  lists.  That  play 
was  Enter  Madame. 

Whereat  there  was  rejoicing  among  all 
those  who  like  to  see  whatever  is  fine-grained 
and  creditable  to  the  theatre  greeted  with 
that  kind  of  overwhelming  popular  support 
which  the  pessimists  insist  is  always  reserved 
for  what  is  gross  and  cheap  and  tawdry — 
great  rejoicing,  indeed,  among  those  who 
knew,  or  came  to  know,  something  of  the 
story  that  lay  behind  the  writing  and  the 
acting  of  it.  Such  back-stage  snooping  as  this 
implies  is  often  disillusionizing  and  almost 
always  unwarrantably  intrusive.  But  some 
glance  into  what  might  be  called  the  personal 
history  of  Enter  Madame  is  justified  because 
it  involves  not  only  the  manner  but  the 
matter  of  the  play. 

It  is  a  motley  story,  one  that  pokes  back  a 
hundred  years  among  the  dusty  laurels  of 
Italian  opera,  makes  such  ambitious  leaps  as 
a  journey  from  Rome  to  Chicago  involves, 
and  sketches,  in  shadowy  outline,  the  tragic 
vi 


Foreword 

figure  of  one  for  whom  the  brilliant  and  satis 
fying  premiere  of  Enter  Madame  came  just 
too  late. 

This  play  was  written  by  Gilda  Varesi  and 
Dolly  Byrne,  though,  in  its  earliest  days,  the 
identity  of  Varesi  herself  as  one  of  its  authors 
was  discreetly  hidden  behind  the  nom  de 
plume  of  Giulia  Conti.  The  Madame  who 
enters  (and  exits)  like  a  dazzling  and  some 
what  disturbing  comet  is  a  world-famous 
prima  donna,  a  spoiled,  petted,  whimsical, 
stormy  lady  whose  alternating  tenderness  and 
tantrums  make  up  what  is  most  easily  de 
scribed  and  dismissed  as  a  comedy  of  tem 
perament — just  as  if  that  loose  description 
did  not  fit  nearly  every  comedy  which  sur 
vives  in  the  theatre. 

This  Madame  Delia  Robbia  is  just  such 
another  first  lady  of  Italian  opera  as  was 
Elena  Varesi,  whose  sweet  voice  and  unfor 
gettable  charm  made  her  welcome  every 
season  in  all  the  citadels  of  opera  from  Berlin 
to  London.  Elena  Varesi  reigned  in  the 
vii 


Foreword 

eighties,  herself  the  daughter  of  the  great 
Felice  Varesi  for  whom  the  baritone  role  in 
Rigoletto  was  written  and  the  granddaughter 
of  that  enchanting  Luigia  Boccabadotti  who 
was  such  a  favourite  in  Rome  in  the  days 
when  Chateaubriand  was  writing  enthusias 
tically  about  her  to  Madame  Recamier  in 
Paris.  It  was  of  such  glory  that  Gilda  Varesi, 
Elena  Varesi's  older  daughter,  trailed  the 
clouds  when  she  came  into  the  world. 

Now,  her  most  vivid  memories  of  her 
mother  are  of  a  radiant  lady,  who,  when  her 
tours  permitted  and  she  happened  to  feel  that 
way,  used  occasionally  to  sweep  down  on 
startled  Milan  where  her  two  daughters  had 
been  installed  under  the  wing  of  a  formidable 
nurse.  There  would  be  a  shower  of  gracious 
gifts  and  endearments  and  maternal  solicitude 
crowded  into  a  few  exciting  days  and  then  the 
prima  donna  would  go  whirling  on  in  her 
course,  perhaps  to  take  the  baths  at  Aix,  per 
haps  to  burst  on  London  for  a  dazzling,  fondly 
cherished  engagement  at  Covent  Garden, 
viii 


Foreword 

Sila  Varesi,  the  younger  daughter,  is  even 
now  singing  in  Milan.  That  Gilda  Varesi, 
who  gave  no  operatic  promise  whatever,  did 
not  grow  up  to  grace  some  provincial  stock 
company  in  her  native  Italy  is  due  to  the  fact 
that  Madame  Varesi,  when  the  loss  of  her 
voice  through  illness  banished  her  from  opera, 
was  minded  to  migrate  to  some  distant  land 
lest  she  be  for  ever  tormented  with  the  memo 
ries  of  the  glories  that  had  passed.  Somehow, 
she  hit  upon  Chicago  as  an  exceedingly  distant 
land  and  there  she  set  up  shop  as  a  teacher  of 
singing,  that  twilight  of  opera  wherein  dwell 
those  who  have  sung  their  last  r61es  surrounded 
by  those  who  have  yet  to  sing  their  first. 

When  the  book  of  Gilda  Varesi 's  life  comes 
to  be  written,  instead  of  being  darkly  fore 
shadowed  in  a  mere  preface,  it  will  have  to 
tell  something  of  those  early  Chicago  days ;  of 
lessons  learned  arduously  at  a  school  of  elocu 
tion  and  as  arduously  unlearned  in  the  actual 
theatre;  of  Desdemona's  grief  conned  in 
secret  and  roared  aloud  in  the  woods  to  the 
ix 


Foreword 

natural  agitation  of  the  birds  and  squirrels. 
It  will  recount  the  first  earnest  efforts  under 
Ben  Greet,  when  the  young  novice  played 
even  the  mob  so  strenuously  that  Mark 
Antony  quite  pardonably  raged  at  the  diffi 
culty  of  co-operating  with  a  Roman  populace 
that  would  persist  in  sitting  on  the  corpse  of 
Caesar.  It  will  describe  the  first  meeting 
Madame  Varesi  reluctantly  arranged  with 
Modjeska,  who  heard  the  young  aspirant  out 
in  stately  silence  and  engaged  her  for  the  next 
season,  but  at  the  same  time  pronounced  the 
following  doom:  "She  is  thin  and  homely 
and  an  artist.  On  all  three  counts,  the  Ameri 
can  theatre  will  have  none  of  her."  If  that 
story  is  ever  really  written,  it  will— it 
must  —  suggest  something  of  the  inex 
pressible  pathos  of  a  dethroned  opera  singer, 
grown  old  and  stout  in  threadbare  exile,  but 
still  trying  gallantly  to  recapture  for  her  wide- 
eyed  daughter's  instruction  something  of  the 
secret  and  the  fire  of  a  dimly  remembered 
triumph  at  far-off  Co  vent  Garden. 


Foreword 

There  will  be  tales  of  comic  adventures  on 
tour  with  the  veteran  Modjeska.  It  will  try 
— probably  in  vain — to  reproduce  something 
of  the  curious  impression  that  must  have  been 
made  in  semi-rural  communities  by  "Mary 
Stuart, "  when  that  German  poet's  foray  into 
English  history  was  translated  and  valiantly 
enacted  by  a  Polish  Mary  and  an  Italian  Bess. 

It  will  tell  of  the  lucky  meeting  with  Mrs. 
Fiske  and  of  the  lessons  learned  in  that  most 
nourishing  of  all  dramatic  schools — Mrs. 
Fiske 's  company.  It  will  tell  of  her  little 
triumph  as  the  Italian  woman  of  the  tene 
ments  in  Salvation  Nell,  a  role  that  came  to 
her  when  she  was  still  in  her  early  twenties. 
Of  course  that  shining  success  doomed  her,  in 
a  theatre  which  has  a  besetting  passion  for 
reproduction,  to  a  wearying  succession  of  just 
such  scrawny  tornadoes  and  season  after 
season  slipped  by  without  the  chance  ever 
coming  for  her  to  play  a  protagonistic  role  or 
even  what  the  people  of  the  show  shop  call  a 
straight  one.  It  is  true  that  in  her  capacity 
xi 


Foreword 

as  the  greatest  and  most  dangerous  American 
understudy  she  was  able  to  play  for  a  little 
time  the  rdles  of  Modjeska  in  Macbeth,  Doris 
Keane  in  Romance,  and  John  Barrymore  in 
The  Jest.  And  these  were  feathers  in  her 
cap,  bright  feathers,  but  they  adorned  a  cap  she 
was  obliged  to  wear  when  no  one  was  looking. 

So  it  was  not  until  Enter  Madame  was  pro 
duced — and  this  play  of  hers  and  Mrs. 
Byrne's  got  its  hearing  at  all,  thanks  to  the 
enthusiasm  of  Brock  Pemberton,  who,  in 
directing  and  presenting  it,  made  his  debut 
as  a  producer  —  that  Varesi  really  came 
into  her  own.  Mind  you,  this  account  of  her 
twelve  years'  struggle  is  not  intended  to  be 
read  with  the  tremolo  stop  out.  Mere  ab 
sence  of  stardom  is  not  acutely  pathetr'c. 
During  those  twelve  years,  the  theatre  sup 
plied  Varesi  with  praise  and  enough  to  eat, 
which  is  all  any  one  needs  in  this  world.  Her 
prestige  was  sufficient  to  satisfy  any  one — 
except,  perhaps,  Elena  Varesi. 

Madame  Varesi  had  sternly  opposed  this 
xii 


Foreword 

daughter  of  hers  even  attempting  the  stage, 
so  vivid  were  her  own  time-enhanced  memo 
ries  of  its  heartaches.  She  had  believed  the 
post  of  an  obscure  school-teacher  more  to  be 
desired  than  that  of  an  obscure  actress — 
certainly  for  a  Varesi.  The  occasional  rap 
tures  of  the  London  and  New  York  critics, 
which  must  have  been  relayed  on  to  her  in 
Chicago,  may  have  pleased  her,  but  they 
probably  did  not  satisfy  her.  We  shall  never 
know,  but  we  may  always  guess,  that  she 
thought  them  paltry  reward  for  one  whose 
very  great-grandmother  had  been  very  great 
indeed. 

Enter  Madame  was  produced  in  August, 
1920.  Elena  Varesi,  who  had  been  its  in 
spiration  in  more  senses  than  one,  did  not  see 
it  nor  read  of  its  reverberant  success.  Death 
had  released  her  in  June  of  that  year. 

ALEXANDER  WOOLLCOTT. 


Xlll 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

ACT  I .        3 

ACT  II 69 

ACT  III I38 


XV 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

GILDA  VARESI        .         .          Frontispiece 

GERALD:  "You  see,  my  life  with  you  has 

been  colorful,  but  snatchy"        .          .       56 

LISA:  "He  has  broken  my  heart!  I  only 

wanted  to  be  loved "          ...       66 

GERALD:  "It  was  a  great  little  life  while 

it  lasted" 108 

"To  Life,  that  outruns  Chance  and  Love 
and  Death!  To  Life,  the  winner  of 
the  race!"  .  112 


xvu 


ENTER  MADAME 


ACT  I 

A  bachelor  library  in  an  Apartment  Hotel  in 
Boston.  At  R.  a  mantel  flanked  by  two 
windows.  In  front  of  it  a  comfortable  chair. 
On  the  mantelpiece  a  large  clock,  pipes, 
pouches  and  boxes  of  tobacco  and  cigarettes, 
pipe  holders,  etc.,  are  thrown  in  the  greatest 
disorder.  A  large  fire  is  burning  in  the 
grate.  At  the  centre  is  a  library  table  en 
cumbered  with  papers,  books,  blueprints, 
letter -stands  filled  with  letters,  etc.  At  back  a 
large  glass  door  opens  on  a  corridor.  Along 
the  corridor  from  R.  people  enter  the  room 
from  the  outside.  The  corridor  to  L.  leads  to 
the  kitchenette  and  dining  room  of  the  apart 
ment.  Down  stage  at  L.  a  door  opens  into 
the  bedroom.  In  the  remaining  space  a  sofa 
and  chairs  are  grouped.  On  a  small  table  is 
a  silver  coffee  service.  The  grand  piano  is 
littered  with  old  magazines. 

At  rise  Gerald  is  walking  up  and  down  rest 
lessly,  smoking  a  pipe.  Enters  a  handsome 

3 

\ 


Enter  Madame 

blond  woman  exquisitely  and  conservatively 
gowned  in  morning  costume.  She  has  a 
comfortable  corseted  figure,  a  placid,  shrewd 
face.  She  speaks  slowly,  soothingly,  with  a 
poise  that  is  never  shaken.  She  seems  to 
carry  her  frank  middle  age  like  a  decoration. 


FLORA 

Well,  my  dear  boy,  how  is  this  for  prompti- 
1^0? 


GERALD 

(Takes  her  in  his  arms  and  kisses  her 

fondly.) 

Flora  dear,  on  time  to  the  dot.  By  Jove  I 
can't  get  used  to  it.  You're  a  miracle;  if  you'd 
come  floating  in  at  the  window  or  had  shot 
up  through  the  floor  it  would  not  seem  more 
wonderful  to  me  than  to  have  a  woman  keep 
an  appointment  on  time. 

FLORA 

You  poor  darling  boy!  Such  a  life  as  you 
must  have  led.  .  .  . 

(Noticing  pipe.} 
4 


Act  I 

Naughty,  naughty,  smoking  like  a  chimney. 
What  did  Flora  say  only  yesterday.  .  .  . 

GERALD 

I  know,  dear,  but  I'm  so  nervous;  it's  a 
sedative  you  see. 

(She  sits  in  chair  and  pours  out  his 
coffee,  puts  in  milk  and  sugar,  and 
hands  it  to  him.) 
Won't  you  have  some? 

FLORA 

Don't  bother  about  me,  thank  you.  I've 
had  my  breakfast.  I  always  have  it  at  7.30. 
"Early  to  bed  .  .  .  early  to  rise  .  .  ." 

GERALD 

And  you'll  meet  no  famous  people. 

FLORA 

You're  so  clever,  Gerald.     You're  always 
saying  the  wittiest  things.    I  pride  myself  on 
having  a  sense  of  humour,  and  yet  I  can  never 
think  up  things  like  that. 
5 


Enter  Madame 

GERALD 

Neither  can  I.  Some  more  famous  humour 
ist  said  that.  Some  column  conductor,  I 
suppose.  Seems  to  me  every  bright  thing  you 
hear  at  the  club  comes  from  one  or  the  other 
of  them.  Do  you  ever  read  them,  Flora? 

FLORA 

I  try  to  sometimes,  but  I  never  find  any 
thing  very  funny  in  them,  and  besides  I  don't 
seem  to  find  time  to  read  anything  but  the 
headlines. 

GERALD 

This  is  awfully  good  of  you  to  put  yourself 
out  like  this  to  give  me  breakfast. 

FLORA 

Why  dear,  it's  no  trouble  at  all.  That's  the 
advantage  of  living  in  the  same  building. 
All  I  have  to  do  is  take  the  elevator. 

GERALD 

It's  a  comfort  to  have  you  so  near. 
6 


Act  I 

FLORA 

Don't  you  have  anything  but  coffee  for 
breakfast  ? 

GERALD 

Can't  eat.  Coffee  is  a  stimulant,  you  know. 
I'm  in  such  a  nervous  state  that  every  time 
I  think  of  food,  especially  in  the  morning, 
every  nerve  in  my  stomach  seems  to  stand  on 
end. 

FLORA 

There,  there,  nothing  to  get  worked  up 
about.  Flora  is  here  now.  You  ought  never 
to  eat  standing.  That's  what  keeps  you  thin. 

GERALD 

That's  right.    Fine  for  the  figure. 

FLORA 

Whenever  your  nerves  try  to  get  the  better 
of  you,  take  some  deep  breaths  and  say  the 
multiplication  table  backwards.  Some  great 
man  used  to  do  that — Buddha  or  Christopher 

7 


Enter  Madame 

Columbus  or  Henry  James.    Well,  someone 
like  that,  dear. 

GERALD 

You  make  a  lovely  picture  sitting  there. 

"But  well  thou  playest  the  housewife's  part 
And  all  thy  threads  with  magic  art 
Have  wound  themselves  about  this  heart." 

FLORA 

Oh,  Gerald,  did  you  make  that  up  about 
me? 

GERALD 

No,  but  the  poet  who  wrote  that  was  a 
lucky  devil.  He  was  half  starved  all  his  life, 
but  he  had  a  wife  who  stuck  to  him  and 
starved  with  him. 

FLORA 

To  starve  is  a  shiftless  sort  of  a  thing  to  do 

it  seems  to  me  and  I  never  could  bear  artists 

of  any  kind.    They  don't  seem  decent  to  me 

somehow.     So  many  of  them  are  foreigners, 

8 


Act  I 

but  it  isn't  that,  because  I  know  some  very 
nice  French  people,  and  once  I  met  a  charm 
ing  Russian.  But  artists  seem  so  immodest, 
so  gauche,  if  you  know  what  I  mean.  Every 
time  you  pick  up  a  paper  you  read  something 
about  their  divorces,  their  stolen  jewels,  or 
their  twins. 

GERALD 

Twins!  Few  of  them  stay  married  long 
enough  for  that. 

FLORA 

Oh,  my  dear,  I  hope  I  haven't  said  anything 
to  hurt  you.  I  almost  forgot  about  Madame 
Delia  Robbia.  John's  train  must  be  late. 
You  expected  him  before  this,  didn't  you? 

GERALD 

Yes,  the  young  upstart  should  be  here  by 
now.  What's  keeping  him,  anyway? 

FLORA 

I   suppose  John   must   be   more   like  his 
mother  than  you.     You  know  the  artistic 
9 


Enter  Madame 

temperament  crops  out,  like  drink,  or  in 
sanity.  I've  noticed  it  before  in  John — never 
on  time,  and  his  taste  in  cravats ! 

GERALD 

Oh,  well,  he  is  young.  Wait  till  he  gets 
through  college  before  we  criticize  him  too 
severely.  After  all  he's  a  manly,  likable  chap, 
though  heaven  knows  we  were  never  very 
congenial.  Now,  before  he  gets  here  there 
are  some  things  I  feel  I  must  tell  you.  When 
I  wrote  Lisa  to  ask  her  to  divorce  me  I  told 
her  that  she  wouldn't  suffer  financially,  that 
if  she  let  me  go  without  a  fuss  I'd  see  she  was 
well  taken  care  of.  There's  the  difficulty. 
That's  one  of  the  things  we've  got  to  face; 
Lisa  is  a  most  expensive  person. 

FLORA 

But,  my  dear,  she  must  make  heaps  of 
money. 

GERALD 

God  knows  what  she  does  with  it!     She 
never  has  a  cent  put  away.     She  calls  on 
10 


Act  I 

me  to  make  up  the  deficit  at  least  twice  a 
year. 

FLORA 

You  mean  to  tell  me  a  prima  donna  as 
popular  as  she  is  doesn't  even  make  enough 
to  pay  her  bills.  Then  all  these  stories  of 
artists'  fabulous  salaries  you  read  in  the  papers 
are  lies  ? 

GERALD 

No,  some  of  the  figures  are  real  enough. 
Lisa  is  one  of  the  best  paid  prima  donnas  in 
Europe,  but  she's  generous,  lavish,  she  has 
the  taste  of  an  oriental,  she — well  she's  Lisa. 
What's  the  use  of  trying  to  explain  her.  Wait 
till  you  see  her.  I  wonder,  Flora,  whether 
you  have  any  conception  of  what  my  married 
life  has  been.  To  be  bustled  continuously 
about  the  world,  to  be  for  ever  readjusting 
one's  digestive  apparatus  to  the  atrocious 
cooking  of  a  dozen  different  nations,  to  spend 
one's  waking  hours  in  the  foyers  of  hotels  and 
amid  the  maddening  babel  of  the  back-stage 
ii 


Enter  Madame 

regions  of  opera  houses,  to  use  one's  home 
only  as  a  coaling  station  or  dry-dock,  and  to 
be  free  not  even  then  from  the  trillings  and 
too  tings  and  mi-mi-mi's  of  the  prima  donna 
and  her  musical  entourage  who  hover  about 
her  and  are  at  once  atmosphere,  press  agents, 
and  Greek  chorus.  In  fact,  to  be  the  husband 
of  the  prima  donna,  to  be  referred  to  by  a 
London  paper  as  Mr.  Gerald  Delia  Robbia 
and  to  be  nominated  by  a  New  York  news 
paper  wag  as  President  of  the  Only  Her 
Husband's  Club.  Such  has  been  my  life. 
Divorce  has  always  seemed  a  detestable, 
crude  thing  to  me,  a  sort  of  public  acknow 
ledgment  of  failure  and  defeat,  and  yet  I 
know,  Flora,  that  you  with  your  womanly 
heart  will  see  that  the  failure  was  not  alto 
gether  my  fault.  Marriage  is  a  game,  but 
lord,  it's  not  solitaire. 

FLORA 

Yes  I  know,  Gerald  dear.     I  am  sure  it 
wasn't  your  fault. 

12 


Act  I 

GERALD 

But  this  is  what  I  started  to  say  when  the 
memory  of  the  past  twenty  years-  unlocked 
my  tongue:  As  soon  as  we  see  Lisa  and  ar 
range  this  thing  harmoniously,  I  am  going  to 
fix  a  substantial  marriage  settlement  on  you 
so  that  you  will  be  provided  for  no  matter 
what  happens. 

FLORA 

Oh,  Gerald,  how  generous  of  you. 

GERALD 

Nonsense.  And  now  if  you  don't  mind 
you  may  give  me  a  kiss. 

FLORA 

Dear  silly  boy — there.     (Kisses  him.) 
(JOHN  and  ALINE  enter  unnoticed.) 

JOHN 
What  again! 

GERALD 

(Furiously.) 

Again,  what  do  you  mean  by  again !  Why 
didn't  Tamamoto  show  you  in? 


Enter  Madame 

JOHN 

I  don't  know,  but  he  didn't. 

GERALD 

(Working  himself  up.) 

Well,  why  didn't  he?  That  was  my 
question. 

JOHN 

The  same  thing  happened  last  Christmas 
when  I  came  home.  If  I'd  known  it  would 
happen  again,  I  wouldn't  have  brought  Aline. 

FLORA 

Gerald,  explain  to  him  immediately — the 
very  idea.  .  .  . 

GERALD 

(Thoroughly  worked  up.) 
You'd  no  business  coming  in  like  that — I 
told  you  last  Christmas  that  you'd  no  business 
coming  in  like  that — and  here  you  go  and  do 
it  again!    How  dare  you,  how  dare  you  do 
«4 


Act  I 

the  same  thing  again,  how  dare  you  disobey 
me.  .  .  . 

FLORA 

(Furiously.) 

It  isn't  the  same  thing!  Remember  of 
whom  you  are  speaking.  There's  never  been 
a  breath  against  my  reputation.  Oh  what  a 
dreadful  situation!  That's  what  comes  of 
doing  a  kindness. 

(Starts  to  go.) 

GERALD 

No,  Flora,  no,  stay  where  you  are. 

FLORA 

Not  another  minute.  .  .  . 

GERALD 

Wait  Flora  .  .  .  Flora,  this  is  Miss  Aline 
Chalmers,  .  .  .  John,  this  is  Mrs.  Preston, 
who  has  done  me  the  honour,  .  .  .  well  .  .  . 
my  future  wife. 

JOHN 

Your  what  ? 

15 


Enter  Madame 
FLORA 

Well  I  do  hope  it  wasn't  the  same  thing 
last  Christmas. 

GERALD 

(Soothingly.) 

Not  at  all  the  same.     Now  please  don't  be 
unreasonable. 

FLORA 

And  you  mean  to  stand  there  and  tell  me 
that  in  this  same  room  .  .  . 

GERALD 

(Quickly.) 

It  wasn't  at  all  the  same.    I  had  the  table 
on  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

JOHN 

(Coming  forward.) 
I  say,  what  about  mother!  .  .  . 

GERALD 

I  am  coming  to  that.    That's  why  I  asked 
you  to  come  home  before  the  end  of  the  term. 
16 


Act  I 

I've  got  a  lot  to  say  to  you.  But  look  here, 
where  are  your  manners.  Why  don't  you  ask 
Aline  to  sit  down  ? 

ALINE 

(She  has  stopped  near  the  door.) 
Oh,  I  am  so  sorry,  I — please,  I  must  be 
going. 

GERALD 

Perhaps  it  would  be  just  as  well.  You  see 
all  this  has  an  explanation  that's  as  plain  as 
the  nose  on  my  face — but  you  mustn't  speak 
of  it  to  your  mother  yet;  it's  premature,  she 
wouldn't  understand — wait  till  I  catch 
Tamamoto. 

JOHN 

(Bitterly.) 

I'm  glad  Aline  came  along.  She  might  as 
well  know  what  kind  of  a  crazy  family  she's 
marrying  into. 

GERALD 

Whom's  she  marrying? 
17 


Enter  Madame 

JOHN 

Me! 

GERALD 

You!  Rot!  Rot  I  tell  you!  Why  you 
aren't  old  enough  to  earn  cigarette  money. 

JOHN 

(Looking  meaningly  at  FLORA.) 
Look  here  sir,  I'm  old  enough  to  under 
stand  that  my  fiancee  ought  not  to  be  here — 
Come  Aline. 

FLORA 

Wait,  please.  If  you  don't  explain  to  those 
children  at  once  I'll  never  look  you  in  the  face 
again. 

GERALD 

Sit  down  the  pair  of  you.  Aline  might  as 
well  know  now  as  later.  John,  your  mother  is 
coming  home ! 

JOHN 

(Sarcastically — as  they  both  sit  on  sofa.) 
Indeed ! 

18 


Act  I 

GERALD 

Yes — as  usual  she  won't  write  if  she's 
within  reach  of  a  cable.  Not  even  the  news 
I  had  to  give  her  about  Mrs.  Preston  could 
shake  a  letter  out  of  her. 

JOHN 

(Warmly  in  defence.) 

It's  her  warm  heart.  She  loves  to  know 
that  what  she  feels  reaches  you  as  soon 
as  possible — warm  from  her  fingers  as  it 
were. 

(Touched  by  his  own  eloquence.) 
Lord,  Governor,  how  can  you  treat  her  so ! 

GERALD 

(Has  pawed  out  the  cables  and  is  arrang 
ing  them  chronologically  as  he  talks. 
Stung  by  the  reproach.) 
Yes,  the  warmth  of  her  fingers  has  to  reach 
me   by   cable.      Mighty   little   warmth   has 
reached  me  otherwise.     You  know  nothing 
at  all  about  it,  you  young  romancer. 
19 


Enter  Madame 

JOHN 

Well,  she  has  her  profession,  hasn't  she? 
If  you  loved  her  you'd  stay  with  her. 

GERALD 

Well,  I  have  my  profession,  haven't  I  ? 

JOHN 

(Sulkily.) 
Never  saw  you  break  your  neck  over  it. 

GERALD 

(Furiously.) 

Much  you  know  about  it.    I  work  like  a 
dog. 

JOHN 

(Sulkily.) 
Just  about.    Never  saw  a  dog  work  yet. 

GERALD 

Now  look  here,  I  won't  tell  you  anything 
more  if  you  are  impertinent. 

20 


Act  I 

FLORA 

Now  wait  Gerald.  Of  course  we  expected 
John  to  take  his  mother's  part. 

GERALD 
(To  JOHN.) 

Go  along  with  her  if  that's  all  the  advice 
you've  got  to  give.  Do  you  want  me  to  be 
the  husband  of  the  prima  donna,  and  to  carry 
her  poodle  through  all  the  capitals  of  Europe? 
I've  done  it  enough!  Never  again! 

JOHN 

You  should  have  thought  of  that  before. 
This  is  an  insult  to  mother,  and  puts  her  in  a 
damnable  position. 

V 

GERALD 

There  you  go  off  at  half  cock.  You  don't 
know  anything  about  it.  How  can  you  under 
stand  the  feelings  of  a  grown  man.  I  want  a 
home.  I  want  my  own  fireside.  I  want  to  see 
my  slippers  toasting  by  the  hearth  when  I 

21 


Enter  Madame 

come  in  after  a  hard  day's  work.    I  want  the 
ministering  hands  of  a  woman. 

JOHN 

Rot.  You  are  tired  of  mother  and  you 
want  a  change — why  don't  you  say  so? 

GERALD 

There  you  see  Flora,  what's  the  use! 
(Gesticulates  with  the  telegrams.) 

FLORA 

Never  mind.  You  can't  expect  him  to 
understand  all  at  once.  It's  natural  devotion 
to  his  mother. 

GERALD 

Nothing  of  the  sort.  He's  scarcely  seen 
her  either,  since  he  was  a  youngster  and  used 
to  trail  around  Europe  after  her  in  search  of  a 
liberal  education. 

JOHN 

She's  my  mother,  and  I'll  see  she  gets  a 
square  deal. 

22 


Act  I 

GERALD 

(Shouting.) 
Who  wants  to  give  her  anything  else? 

FLORA 

That's  right — everything  will  come  right 
if  we'll  just  keep  calm.  Read  the  cables. 

GERALD 

(Calming  himself.) 

Yes,  here  they  are.  All  concise  and  away 
off  the  point.  But  I've  gathered  that  Ma 
dame  intends  to  come  home.  The  first  is 
from  Madrid: 

"Oh,  my  Gerald,  these  golden  autumn  days 
mock  the  misery  in  my  eyes.  LISA." 

JOHN 

She's  broken-hearted.  I  won't  stand  for  it- 
Do  you  hear? 

GERALD 

Hear  them  all,  and  then  judge: 
"Spain,  land  passionate  and  ascetic.    The 
23 


Enter  Madame 

night  long  I  danced  until  the  Duke  of  Alva 
stole  my  slipper.     LISA." 

FLORA 

Dear,  dear,  what  a  liberty  to  take ! 

JOHN 
(In  arms.) 
Well,  she  couldn't  help  that,  could  she? 

FLORA 

Perhaps  not.    But  she  needn't  boast  about 
it. 

GERALD 

The  next  came  from  Barcelona: 
"I  fled  the  opera  quite  at  once  in  the  middle 
of  Salve  Dimora.  The  turmoil  of  my  flight 
rumbled  behind  me  in  the  silent  streets.  A 
mob  like  angry  bees  sought  me  in  vain.  I 
found  peace  on  a  tall  ship  that  rocked. 
LISA." 

FLORA 

Mercy  what  a  long  cablegram.     Is  it  in 
cipher? 

24 


Act  I 

GERALD 

Oh,  no.  Lisa,  you  must  remember,  is  a 
foreigner. 

FLORA 

Yes,  yes,  of  course,  dear. 

JOHN 

And  a  very  nice  thing  to  be.  Mrs.  Preston, 
you  talk  as  though  it  were  some  disease. 
She's  the  most  wonderful  woman  in  the  world. 
I  can  read  right  through  to  what  she  was 
thinking  and  suffering  when  she  sent  those 
cables. 

GERALD 

I  don't  believe  your  mother's  got  a  heart 
when  the  music  stops. 

FLORA 

It's  a  dreadful  waste  of  money. 

ALINE 

I  think  she's  a  darling.     How  did  those 
foreign  officials  get  those  cables  right? 
25 


Enter  Madame 

GERALD 

She  probably  stood  over  them  with  a 
stiletto.  Lisa  isn't  one  to  have  her  effects 
spoiled. 

ALINE 

It's  very  beautiful  and  poetic,  but  what 
does  it  all  mean. 

GERALD 

Trouble  undoubtedly.  All  Madame's  most 
strenuous  arguments  are  conducted  in  verse 
libre. 

JOHN 

After  all,  why  should  she  care?  She's 
probably  jolly  glad  to  get  rid  of  you,  if  the 
truth  were  known. 

GERALD 

Look  here!    If  you  expect  to  talk  like  that 

to  me,  get  out  of  my  house.    Good  Lord,  here 

I  am  trying  to  be  frank  and  calm  and  sensible, 

trying  to  talk  to  you  as  if  you  were  a  man  and 

26 


Act  I 

an  equal,  to  see  if  we  can  come  to  some  amic 
able  solution  of  the  problem.  .  .  . 

FLORA 

Now  patience,  patience,  dear.  John  .  .  . 
may  I  call  you  that?  It  seems  absurd  not  to, 
under  the  circumstances. 

GERALD 

Call  him  anything  you  like.  That's  much 
too  good  for  him. 

FLORA 

Of  course,  John,  you  are  beautifully  loyal 
to  your  mother.  We  expect  nothing  else  of 
you.  But  won't  you  consider  just  a  moment 
what  an  unsatisfactory  life  your  father  has 
led? 

JOHN 

He  always  seemed  to  me  to  be  jolly  well  off. 

FLORA 

That's  only  his  dear  courageous  way — why 
he's  been  a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth; 
he's  had  no  home ;  he's  been  so  lonely. 
27 


Enter  Madame 

JOHN 

I've  never  noticed  him  alone,  not  long 
enough  to  make  a  very  deep  impression  on  me. 

GERALD 

Now  that  will  do.  Never  mind  Flora — 
don't  listen  to  him.  This  last  telegram  came 
some  days  ago.  I  gather  that  if  Madame 
stowed  away  on  that  rocking  ship  it  was 
probably  heading  for  America.  So  she  ought 
to  arrive  very  soon. 

(Fishes  out  the  morning  paper.) 
I  phoned  last  night  to  the  lines  that  stop 
at  Barcelona  or  start  from  there,  but  her 
name  is  not  on  their  passenger  lists.  She  may 
have  travelled  incognito.  She'd  love  that. 
She's  probably  posing  as  an  escaped  queen. 
She  won't  miss  a  chance,  that's  sure.  Come  in. 

(TAMAMOTO  comes  in  after  a  discreet 

knock  with  a  telegram  on  a  tray.) 
Oh,  halloo  there.    Another  cablegram. 

(Exit  TAMAMOTO.) 

(Tears  it  open.) 
28 


Act  I 

"Arriving.     Steamer   Mongolia.     In   my 
heart  is  peace  and  blessings  for  all.    My  arms 
are  filled  with  roses.     LISA." 
(Tears  it  up.) 

JOHN 

(Rising.) 
Great! 

ALINE 

Is  the  ship  in? 

FLORA 

What  a  pleasant   message.     I  knew  she 
would  understand. 

(GERALD    has    been    looking    through 
paper.) 

1  GERALD 

(Reading  the  ship's  name.) 
Mongolia — Lord  bless  us.    It's  in ! 
(There's  a  silence.) 

JOHN 

Do  you  think  she'll  come  here  to  stay? 
With  us? 

29 


Enter  Madame 

GERALD 

The  place  was  big  enough  five  years  ago. 
Unless  her  retinue  has  grown  in  the  meantime. 

JOHN 

Do  you  think  she  is  bringing  the  whole 
cavalcade  along? 

GERALD 

She  left  in  such  a  hurry  she  may  have  over 
looked  'em.  From  past  experience  we'd 
better  keep  away  from  the  boat.  Six  feet  of 
you,  John,  would » be  a  blow  to  the  Delia 
Robbia  pose  of  perennial  youth. 

ALINE 

Surely  she'll  be  crazy  to  see  John. 

JOHN 

(At  the  window.) 

Don't  bother  about  me,  Aline.  Mother 
and  I  understand  each  other.  We  don't  have 
to  show  off. 

30 


Act  I 

GERALD 

(Calling  into  next  room.) 
Tamamoto.  .  .  .     Isn't  it  like  her  to  drop 
on  us  like  this. 

(TAMAMOTO  enters.) 

Here,  Tamamoto,  pack  up  my  things  and  send 
them  over  to  the  club.  And  order  some 
flowers. 

JOHN 

(Excitedly.) 

I'd  go  for  flowers  myself  only  I  am  afraid 
to  miss  her. 

FLORA 

I'll  run  along  and  drop  in  when  you've  all 
met  .  .  .  just  offhand  you  know.  Oh,  my 
dear,  I  wish  I  could  help  you  see  it  through. 


GERALD 

I'll  take  you  to  the  elevator. 
(Exit.) 


Enter  Madame 

JOHN 

Disgusting!  Never  mind,  Aline.  I  know 
you'll  love  mother.  She's  wonderful ! 

ALINE 

She  must  be  John — because  she  is  your 
mother. 

JOHN 

Do  you  know  sometimes  I  wonder  how  I 
can  love  you  both  so  much.  You  are  so 
different. 

ALINE 

Perhaps  that's  why.  With  such  a  famous 
mother  I  don't  see  how  you  can  be  interested 
in  me.  I'll  never  be  famous.  Will  that 
matter? 

JOHN 

Why  no.  Don't  ever  change.  Always  be 
just  you. 

ALINE 

My  poor  little  engagement!    I  thought  it 
was  such  big  news  last  night.    No  one  said  a 
32 


Act  I 

word  about  it  except  to  mention  the  fact  that 
it's  all  rot! 

JOHN 

(Coming  to  her.) 

Mother  won't  make  fun  of  it.  You  wait. 
I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I  don't  dare  go 
down  for  fear  of  disgracing  her  with  my  long 
legs  ...  I  hope  mother  won't  mind  too 
much  that  I'm  a  man. 

(Enter  GERALD.    Much  noise  is  heard 
behind  him.) 

GERALD 

Alarums  without.    I've  got  stage  fright. 
(A  tremendous  noise  is  heard  outside  of 
Italian,  French,  Russian,  Japanese, 
American.     Enter  first  BICE.     She's 
short,  fat,  birdlike  in  face  and  move 
ment.    She  is  dressed  fantastically,  in 
a  manner  to  compel  attention.    Her 
voice  is  shrill  and  hard  with  sudden 
flashes  of  tenderness.    She  is  a  mix- 
33 


Enter  Madame 

ture  of  undying  devotion,  utter  ras 
cality,  meanness,  and  generosity.) 

Well,  Bice,  still  alive.    How  are  you? 

BTCE 

Signor  Geraldo.    Madonna  benedetta.    How 
beautiful,  how  young  you  look. 

(He  tries  to  help  her  with  her  shawl.) 
No  thank  you.    I  can  do  that  myself.    Ah! 
Tamamoto !  guarda  fammi  il  piacere  aiutami. 

TAMAMOTO 

(Very  cross.) 
No  understand.  .  .  . 

GERALD 

Tamamoto,  you  are  to  do  what  Bice  says. 

BICE 

(Loading  him  with  her  hat  and  cloak.) 
Bring  here  immediate  portmanteaux  Nos. 
"15"  and  "22"  and  open  them  on  the  floor. 
Go!    Quick! 

(Sees  JOHN.) 

Giovannino,  il  Signor  Giovannino. 
34 


Act  I 

JOHN 

(Embracing  her.} 

Dear   old   thing,    it's    good    to    see   you. 
Where's  mother? 

(TAMAMOTO  goes  into  bedroom  with  his 
burden.) 

BICE 

Right  away  your  mother  she  come.     My 
how  tall  he  is !    He  was  like  that. 
(Indicates  height.) 

JOHN 

This  is  Miss  Chalmers,  Bice. 

BICE 

Riverita  Signorina. 

(Curtsying.     Then  to  JOHN,  wagging  a 

knowing  finger .) 
Ah!  the  little  bride  already — eh? 

ALINE 

How  do  you  do,  Bice !     Can  John  and  I 
help  you? 

35 


Enter  Madame 

(While  BICE  is  talking  TAMAMOTO  has 
come  from  the  inner  room  staggering 
under  valises  and  has  opened  them  on 
the  floor.  BICE,  as  soon  as  this  is  done, 
flurries  about  him  like  a  hen — her 
flouncy  wide  skirts  fluttering  like 
wings.) 

BICE 

Yes  indeed,  Madame  she  likes  to  have  her 
home  wherever  she  go — she's  all  for  cosy,  all 
for  home,  you  remember  that  Signor  Geraldo? 

(GERALD  grins  from  ear  to  ear.) 
Put  these  ornaments  on  the  mantelpiece — 
here  are  sofa  pillows,  scarves;  the  picture 
frames  belong  on  the  table.  Madame  likes 
to  have  her  friends  about  her.  Have  you 
flowers?  Good,  put  them  in  these  vases. 
Tamamoto,  get  a  basket  and  clear  away  all 
the  papers  from  that  table ;  go,  go  quick ! 

(GERALD  rushes  to  rescue  some  files  of 
letters.) 

(As  the  ornaments  are  being  put  in  their 

36 


Act  I 

places  TAMAMOTO  returns  with  a  large 

basket.) 

Aline,  put  these  candles  in  Madame's  room. 
She  hate  sudden  light,    She  want  all  soft. 

GERALD 

We're  not  getting  young  are  we,  Bice? 

BICE 

Ah,  Monsieur  will  have  the  shock  of  his 
life.    Madame  look  seventeen. 

(BICE  takes  the  basket  that  TAMAMOTO 
presents  to  her  and  holding  it  under 
the  mantelshelf  she  sweeps  into  it  all 
the  tobacco  jars,  cigarette  boxes,  and 
odds  and  ends.) 
There  you  go ! 

GERALD 

(Helplessly.) 
Yes,  there  you  go. 

(TAMAMOTO   exits  with  them.)     (BICE 
sees  GERALD  in  arm-chair.) 
37 


Enter  Madame 

BICE 

Ah,   beg  pardon,   but   this   is   Madame's 
corner. 

(GERALD  disgustedly  crosses  to  sofa.) 

BICE 

She  brings  her  home  wherever  she  go.    You 
remember  that. 

GERALD 

Yes!    Don't  I! 

BICE 

(Looking  about  room.) 
Oh,  what  a  change  already. 

(TAMAMOTO  enters  with  a  large  wreath, 
white  dove  in  centre.) 

GERALD 

Holy  Moses,  who's  responsible  for  that? 

BICE 

Ah !  Signer  Giovanni,  who  done  that !    My 
God,  who  has  done  that  to  my  madame !   She 
will  yell  without  a  doubt ! 
38 


Act  I 

GERALD 

(Who  has  read  the  card.) 
Ahem !   A  friend  sent  it,  Bice. 

BICE 

Santi  Bendetti! 

GERALD 

That  stays,  Bice.    Put  it  here,  Tamamoto ! 

BICE 

Ah !  but  it  is  wonderful !  Although  Signore, 
if  you  permit — The  little  dead  bird  up  there. 
In  Italy  we  say  he  bring  bad  luck. 

GERALD 

In  America  we  have  no  bad  luck ! 

BICE 

(Shrugging  her  shoulders.) 
Ehlfortunati  loro,  so  much  the  better! 

(The  room  has  now  been  transformed 
into  an  ornate,  bizarre,  and  comfort 
able  apartment.     The  last  traces  of 
poor    Gerald's    reign    have    entirely 
39 


Enter  Madame 

disappeared.     Enter  chef  from  back 

With  TAMAMOTO.) 

(The  cook's  voice  has  never  ceased  for  a 
moment,  and  though  TAMAMOTO  does 
not  make  a  sound,  the  immobility  of 
his  face  would  strike  terror  to  the 
heart  of  any  cook  less  determined.  As 
it  is  the  chef  is  frightened.) 

CHEF  (ARCHIMEDE.) 

Vieni  qui  Bice  per  Vamor  di  Dio.     Ah! 
Signer  Geraldo,  servitor  e  suo. 

GERALD 

Archimede,   you    old    sinner,   what's    the 
matter? 

ARCHIMEDE 

It  is  just  you  I  must  see — I  am  cook — 
My  duty  I  must  perform.  Without  me 
Madame  she  die.  Of  course  she  cannot  eat 
the  mess  of  the  foreign  gentleman  there.  He 
very  handsome.  Oh  yes  I  do  not  say.  He 
make  fine  piece  of  statuary  if  he  sit  cross  leg — 
40 


Act  I 

but  cook  that  is  me.  I  am  cook  from  head  to 
foot.  He  say  "I  cook."  I  say,  "I  cook." 
He  say,  "My  gentleman  must  eat  me."  I 
say,  ' '  Madame  never  eat  nothing  that  is  not 
me."  And  yet  the  machine  in  there  is  like 
that. 

(Makes  two  little  circles  with  the  thumb 

and  first  finger  of  each  hand.) 
How  can  we  cook  together! 

TAMAMOTO 

(Intensely.) 

I  am  cook  this  place.     No  one  go  my 
kitchen. 

GERALD 

Ah !    Now  we'll  see  some  fun. 

ARCHIMEDE 

(Persuasively,  almost  in  tears.) 
But  Madame.     She  cannot  eat  you.     She 
want  me,  me.     Saints  in  Heaven,  do  I  cook 
in  my  hat  ? 


Enter  Madame 

GERALD 

Tamamoto,   during  the  stay  of  Madame 
Delia  Robbia  her  chef  will  do  the  cooking. 

TAMAMOTO 

I  do  not  like  noise.    I  do  not  like.    Old  man 
make    slop — fat    woman    make    confuse — 
parrot,  dog,  cat,  orders  pass  around  my  head 
like  a  strong  hail.     No  can  do — go. 
(TAMAMOTO  bows  and  exits.) 

GERALD 

(Aghast.) 
God  bless  our  happy  home ! 

ARCHIMEDE 

(Blithely.) 

Grazie,  Signor  Geraldo.     I  go,  I  go.     I  cook 
such  dinners,  you  lick  your  fingers. 
(Exit.) 

BICE 

(Excitedly.) 

The  screen !    Madonna  we  forget  the  screen. 
Archimede,  il  paravento! 

(ARCHIMEDE  runs  to  the  door.) 
42 


Act  I 

Is  it  in  the  kitchen!    If  we  have  left  it  on 
the  sheep!    We  are  all  lost.    Madame  die  of 
pneumonia,  of  the  consumption  from  draft. 
(Enter  DOCTOR  dragging  screen.    It  is  a 

magnificent  Chinese  affair.} 
Ah!    Grazie  al  cielo.     Grazie  dottore. 
(Enter  MISS  SMITH.) 
(JOHN  helps  BICE  place  the  screen  behind 
Madame' s  chair.) 

GERALD 

Hello  Doctor.  How  do  you  do  Miss  Smith. 
It's  a  blessing  you  found  the  screen.  I'd  have 
been  a  raving  maniac. 

(AtR.of  DOCTOR.) 

MISS    SMITH 

They  put  it  with  my  baggage!    So  absurd 


(Thumping  her  chest.) 
Do  I  look  as  though  I  needed  a  screen? 

GERALD 

No  indeed !    This  is  John.    You  remember 
John. 

43 


Enter  Madame 

DOCTOR  and  MISS  SMITH 
Oh  Madonna! 


TT      ut.  ,i  (Together) 

Hasn't  he  grown!) 

DOCTOR 

I  rejoice  to  see  you  both  so  well  and  beauti 
ful.     Madame  she  come  now.     We  have  a 
little  trouble  at  the  custom.     I  must  hasten 
to  prepare  the  nerve  tonic.    Scusatemi. 
(Exits.) 

MISS  SMITH 

You  will  excuse  me.  I  always  take  a  cold 
bath  before  my  work  begins.  Excuse  me! 
Excuse  me! 

(Exits.) 

BICE 

(She's  gone  out  during  talk  and  returns. 

In  a  hushed  excited  voice.) 
Enter  Madame. 

(Yelling  to  cook.) 

Archimede,    the    broth,     Madame     come — 
quick,  quick. 
(Exits.) 

44 


Act  I 

(GERALD  stands  with  his  back  to  the 
mantel.  JOHN  is  up  stage  eagerly 
awaiting  his  mother.  ALINE  stands 
near  him  holding  his  hand.  Enter 
LISA  DELLA  ROBBIA.  She  imme 
diately  catches  sight  of  JOHN.  For  a 
moment  she  cannot  move,  she  trembles 
with  emotion,  then  wordlessly  she 
flies  into  his  arms.  A  long  embrace, 
then  leaning  from  him  she  gazes  into 
hisface.) 

LISA 

Johnnie!  My  little  Johnnie  has  become 
a  man!  Ah,  how  the  great  earth  must 
sigh  as  the  generations  rush  by  like  a 
mighty  wind  and  drop,  as  the  wind  drops, 
at  sunset ! 

JOHN 

(Enthusiastically.) 

Gee!  it's  great  to  have  you  come  mother. 
You  always  knock  us  off  our  feet.    You  look 
45 


Enter  Madame 

ripping !  ripping !    Doesn't  she  Aline  ?    This  is 
Aline  mother. 

(Bashfully.) 
Aline  Chalmers,  you  know. 

(LISA  quite  lost  among  her  poetic  similes 
blinks  a  little  as  the  torrent  of  boyish 
enthusiasm  pours  about  her.) 

LISA 

Aline !    Aline  Chalmers  ? 

JOHN 
You  know  mother,  Aline 

LISA 

(Remembering.) 
Oh — oh  yes ! 

(Embraces  her.    Then  looking  at  her.) 
What  a   dark    child.      Why   more   like  my 
child  than  you.    Oh,  no. 

(To  ALINE,  pointing  to  his  hair) 
You    see,    he   get    that — from  his  Venetian 
ancestors. 

(Putting  them  side  by  side.) 
46 


Act  I 

One,  two!  Just  as  one  group  flowers.  Oh 
such  a  beautiful  two !  Child  speak,  I  want  to 
hear  the  timbre  of  your  voice. 

ALINE 

I  don't  know  what  to  say.  .  .  . 

LISA 

Ver'  light  Soprano,  perhaps  it  will  grow. 
Now  say:  I  love  you. 

JOHN 

(Shocked.) 
She's  shy  mother. 

LISA 

Why  not !  go  on ! 

ALINE 

(Is  very  shy,  then  slowly  she  turns  her 
face  up  to  John  and  says  in  a  sweet 
trembling  voice  as  if  gathering  courage 
from  his  look.) 
I  love  you ! 

47 


Enter  Madame 

LISA 

Ah,  the  darlings,  the  darlings ! 

(JOHN  points  to  GERALD.) 

(LISA  sees  him  for  the  first  time  and 
rushes  to  him,  followed  by  JOHN 
who  glares  at  his  father.  She  holds 
out  her  hand.  He  takes  it  and 
kisses  it.) 

GERALD 

Lisa,   it's   always   The   Great   Day   when 
you  come. 

LISA 

Is  it  my  Gerald.    Then  I  must  rejoice  that 
I  have  come  so  far! 

(She  lays  one  hand  on  her  husband's 
shoulder  and  the  other  on  JOHN'S  as 
they  stand  on  either  side  of  her  and 
says  softly:) 

Two  such  big  men  and  one  little  woman. 
Why  did  I  stay  away  so  long?    My  Gerald's 


Act  I 

hair  grows  grey  and  our  boy  has  become  a 
man! 

GERALD 

(Down  L.) 

Don't  take  his  six  feet  to  heart,  my  dear. 
I  couldn't  very  well  keep  him  in  short  trousers 
till  you  came,  but  I'm  quite  young  enough 
to  do  for  both. 

LISA 

Life  has  rushed  by  me  like  a  swift  wind, 
and  the  sound  of  my  voice  singing  silly  little 
tunes  has  deafened  me  to  the  rush  of  its 
passing. 

(JOHN  and  ALINE  are  deeply  impressed 
but  GERALD  looks  at  her  with  a  whimsi 
cal  smile.    LISA  is  hurt  by  it.) 
Ah,  of  course,   I  forgot.     This  is  America. 
Here  when  the  heart  speaks,  the  lips  say 
"Fine    weather    we    are    having."      Ough! 
Where  are  my  servants?     Where  is  Bice! 
Bice! 

(BICE  enters.) 

49 


Enter  Madame 

BICE 

Si  Signora — un  momenta. 

(LISA  hands  BICE  her  hat  and  offers  her 
shoulders  to  have  her  wraps  removed.} 

LISA 

(Furiously.) 

Ma  come,  ' '  Un  momento! ' '    Sono  ore  che  mi 
lasci  li  colla  roba  addosso — ore! 

(Tu^ns  and  sees  GERALD  in  her  arm 

chair.) 

E  lasci  che  la  gente  si  sieda  nella  mia  sedia! 
(BICE,  sees  GERALD  in  the  arm-chair. 
Motions  for  him  to  leave,  which  he 
does  disgustedly.) 
(Sits  in  her  arm-chair  triumphantly  and 

motions  to  ALINE  to  kneel  near  her.) 
Dear  child,  tell  me  your  name  once  more. 

ALINE 

Aline  .  .  . 

LISA 

Aline!     In    Italian    "Ali"    means   wings. 
You  look  like  that,  child    a  bird  with  swift 
50 


Act  I 

white  wings.  Now  fly  off  with  my  John 
while  I  rest.  Fly  off  but  not  too  far;  just 
where  I  can  hear  the  twitter  of  your  voice  and 
glimpse  the  flutter  of  your  wings — the  little 
dove.  Au  revoir  my  darlings. 

(DOCTOR  enters.  LISA  sees  him  and 
immediately  sinks  back  into  the  chair 
moaning  gently.  Exit  children.} 

GERALD 

(Starts  up  to  go  to  her,  but  sees  the  DOCTOR 
and  lays  back  on  sofa.) 

DOCTOR 

(Down  to  L.) 

Ah  Signora  mia  che  imprudenza!  Always 
she  eats  herself  up.  She  must  drink  this  at 
once. 

(At  the  doctor's  command  LISA  tastes  the 
medicine,  finding  it  bitter  she  makes  a 
face  and  waves  it  away.) 
I  command.     And  then  completely  she  rest 
.  .  .  two  .  .  .  three  hours. 


Enter  Madame 

LISA 

(Weakly.) 
Oh  dottore!   Life  demands  that  I  be  strong. 

DOCTOR 
With  rest  will  come  strength. 

GERALD 

The  doctor  is  right.     Of  course  you  must 
be  tired.    I'll  go  now. 

LISA 

(Coming  to  life  at  once.) 
No!  no!    I  will  not  sleep — vada  via  dottore 
— la  prego — There   is   much   I   have  to  do 
— later  I  rest — Now  I  must  speak  with  my 
husband. 

GERALD 

(Rising.) 
My  dear,  there's  plenty  of  time. 

LISA 

No !  norol 

(To  the  DOCTOR,  motioning  Him  away 
with  a  smile.) 
52 


Act  I 

Vada! 

(The  DOCTOR  stands  his  ground  stub 
bornly  presenting  his  medicine.) 
(Sweetly,  as  if  conferring  a  favour  on  a 

child.) 
All  right!    I  take  the  medicine. 

(Seeing  the  DOCTOR  still  determined  to 
insist  on  her  swallowing  the  stuff  in  his 
presence.) 
I'll  take  it — I  promise  most  faithfully! 

(DOCTOR  goes  shrugging  his  shoulders. 
Exits.  LISA  in  looking  for  a  vase  or 
something  into  which  to  pour  the 
doctor's  medicine  comes  across  Mrs. 
Preston's  bouquet.) 

Madonna  mia,  Gerald,  did  you  bring  that 
thing  for  my  grave? 

GERALD 

No  Lisa,  Mrs.  Preston  of  whom  I  wrote 
you  .  .  .  she  .  .  . 

LISA 

Ah!     I  see.     She  sends  a  peace  offering. 
53 


Enter  Madame 

.  .  ,  The    little    dove — She    is    subtle    this 
lady! 

GERALD 

My  dear  girl,  you  will  twist  things  your 
own  way.  She  just  wished  to  be  kind,  to 
welcome  you,  that  sort  of  thing. 

LISA 

Ah !  that  sort  of  thing.  Gerald,  it's  wonder 
ful.  It  is  as  if  she  stood  in  the  room. 

(Shivers.) 
So  that's  who  she  is. 

GERALD 

Nothing  of  the  sort —  She  was  in  a  hurry. 
She  probably  bought  the  first  thing  she  saw. 
To  me  it  looks  like  a  naive,  but  warm  and 
sincere  impulse. 

LISA 

Mine  was  an  impulse,  warm  and  sincere.  Did 
I  do  well  to  come?  Are  you  glad  to  see  me? 

GERALD 

To  see  you  has  always  been  my  delight. 
54 


Act  I 

The  trouble  is  I  haven't  had  enough  of  it  to 
keep  me  from  starving. 

LISA 

And  from  now  on  you  wish  to  die  of  starva 
tion? 

GERALD 

Oh  no!    That's  not  my  intention.    Just  to 
try  some  other  kind  of  nourishment. 

LISA 

(Nodding  toward  flowers.} 
Ah!  it  will  not  agree  with  you,  it's  rather 
heavy  fare. 

(Thoughtfully.) 

That's  what  puzzles  me.  So  she  looks  like 
that !  Until  now  your  amourettes  were  more 
like  a  series  of  hors  d'ceuvres. 

GERALD 

Lisa,  this  lady,  well — it's  a  difficult  thing 

to  explain  in  a  letter.     You  see  my  life  with 

you  has  been  colourful,  but  snatchy.    It  has 

been  more  like  the  experience  of  a  playgoer. 

55 


Enter  Madame 

At  intervals  the  curtain  came  down  and  I 
left  the  theatre  of  your  presence  always  re 
gretfully,  always  eager  to  come  again,  and 
with  the  sense  that  it  wasn't  real  and  couldn't 
be  expected  to  be  real — that  was  the  fun  of  it 
and  the  charm  of  it — but  it's  an  awful  pace  to 
keep  up.  Frankly  I  don't  see  how  you  do  it! 

LISA 

Ah,  and  now  you  no  longer  care  to  go  to  the 
play,  it  is  October  in  your  life, — the  landscape 
glows,  the  sun  is  still  warm,  but  the  evenings 
are  chilly  and  you  like  to  sit  by  the  fire  en 
famille,  in  your  slippers.  .  .  . 
(Points  to  them.) 

GERALD 

Lord,  I  haven't  had  time  to  change.  .  .  . 

LISA 

And  the  lady  of  the  dove  will  sit  opposite 
in  that  big  fat  chair,  which  she  will  completely 
fill  ...  and  she  will  .  .  . 

(Rise**.) 
My  God! 

56 


GERALD:  "You  see,  my  life  with  you  has  been  colorful,  but  snatchy.' 


Act  I 

GERALD 

Now,  that  doesn't  appeal  to  you,  does  it? 

LISA 

(With  fervour.) 
Oh  no!!! 

GERALD 

Well,  there  you  are,  you  see  ... 

LISA 

(Change  of  mood.    Apparently  making 

the  best  of  it.) 

All  right,  all  right.  I  am  a  woman  of  the 
world.  I  understand.  It  was  nice  to  talk  it 
over  quietly  together.  Mon  ami, — bon  ami — 
la!  Shake  hands  a  Vanglaise — en  bon 
camarade! 

(Offers  hand.) 
(They  shake  hands.) 

GERALD 

My  dear  Lisa,  I  am  no  more  blind  today 
than    I  ever  was.    To  me  you  are  the  most 
fascinating  woman  in  the  world. 
57 


Enter  Madame 

LISA 

Oh,  thank  you.  That  makes  it  easier  for 
me  to  tell  you  my  little  story  .  .  .  the  real 
reason  for  my  coming.  .  .  . 

GERALD 

What  now? 

LISA 

Your  letter  arrived  at  a  most  opportune 
moment.  I  also  have  met  someone,  not  too 
young,  not  too  old,  not  as  old  as  you,  not  as 
young  as  me.  Just  right  you  know.  He  is  a 
great  poet,  no  money  he  have,  no  jewels  to 
bring  to  me  .  .  .  just  his  heart  and  his  poems 
he  lay  at  my  feet  .  .  .  when  you  write  me  of 
the  American  Lady  I  say  ...  all  is  well — 
soon  I  too  can  marry. 

GERALD 

(is  dumbfounded  for  a  moment,  then  he 
breaks  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  Up 
and  down  C.) 

58 


Act  I 

A  poet,  a  spring  poet.  Oh,  Lisa,  come  off. 
I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it. 

LISA 

Oh,  you  do  not  believe  eh?  You  then  are 
the  only  one  who  has  yearnings!  You  are 
tired  of  romance,  you  sigh  for  quiet,  for  peace, 
for  old  slippers!  What  have  I  to  do  with 
these  things?  For  years  you  leave  me  all 
alone. 

GERALD 

I  leave  you  alone? 

LISA 

I  am  Lisa  Delia  Robbia  who  is  always 
young.  I  starve  for  romance,  for  poetry. 
Now  I  find  it  and  I  take  it ;  you  can  have  the 
old  slippers. 

GERALD 

Don't  be  a  fool,  Lisa.    If  there's  anything 
in  this  you  must  be  mad.    Some  fool  versify 
ing  boy.    Where  will  you  get  the  money  to 
support  him?     Do  you  expect  me  to  do  it? 
59 


Enter  Madame 

First  there  is  your  villa  at  Viareggio; — then 
the  castle  in  Andalusia  that  you  bought  to 
make  our  dreams  come  true;  there's  your 
entourage:  Bice,  the  old  ruffianness,  the  secre 
tary,  the  doctor,  the  blooming  cook,  the  dogs, 
the  jewels,  these  marvellous  exits  and  en 
trances,  these  scenic  effects-.  Bah!  You 
have  the  extravagances  of  an  empress.  In 
spite  of  all  the  money  you  make,  the  burden 
has  been  a  pretty  heavy  one  for  me.  God 
knows  I  haven't  grumbled.  I've  realized  that 
you  must  have  your  trappings.  But  now  by 
God  this  must  all  change.  I've  no  intention 
of  maintaining  a  pet  poet. 

LISA 

I,  Lisa  Delia  Robbia,  am  to  be  thrown  aside 
like  an  old  shoe,  to  live  alone,  to  wither  like  an 
autumn  leaf,  to  die  alone.     That  is  my  fate 
which  you  plan  for  me.    No,  I  tell  you,  no. 
Bah  for  your  money,  for,  your  common  ideas, 
your  flatfooted  slippers — Bah,  I  say. 
(Crosses  to  front  of  sofa.) 
60 


Act  I 

GERALD 

All  of  a  sudden  this  passion  for  romance, 
this  melodrama  of  dying  alone.  For  years 
I've  begged  you  to  come  back  to  me  or  to  let 
me  be  with  you  and  what  did  you  answer 
me.  You  must  be  free.  You  must  be  alone! 
I've  been  nothing  to  you,  nothing  mattered, 
nothing  but  your  own  headstrong  way. 

LISA 

I  am  Delia  Robbia.  Love  is  my  master 
and  my  slave.  I  am  young  as  eternity,  old 
as  the  moons,  wise  as  the  stars. 

GERALD 

Oh  stop,  Lisa!    Stop  acting! 

(Grabs  her  arm  and  jerks  her  back  on 
to  sofa. 

Now  you  listen  to  me.  You're  a  conceited 
middle-aged  woman,  whose  career  is  on  the 
wane.  You  never  were  a  beauty  at  any  time 
in  your  life.  You've  been  spoiled  and  petted ; 
self  has  been  your  God  and  you've  served 
61 


Enter  Madame 

him  well.  You've  done  what  you  pleased 
and  never  counted  the  cost.  Oh,  you've  had 
your  fill  of  fame  and  glory,  and  what  was  our 
part — John's  and  mine — in  your  game?  Even 
now  we  couldn't  meet  you  at  the  boat.  We 
mustn't  be  seen.  We  might  spoil  the  scenery. 
You  know  how  we  yielded  to  your  whims  and 
even  now,  God  help  me — I  can't  stand  quietly 
by  and  see  you  make  a  fool  of  yourself.  A 
poet — bah!  Look,  I'll  show  you  something. 

(Holds  the  mirror  to  her  face.) 

(She  draws  back.) 

You  are  growing  old,  Lisa!  There's  too 
much  rouge  here.  Too  much  make-up,  too 
much  trouble  to  gain  your  effects.  How  dare 
you  speak  of  poets,  of  romance.  You're 
growing  old,  Lisa,  old  I  tell  you,  old ! 

(Throws  mirror  on  table.    Stands  watch 
ing  her.) 

LISA 

(Slowly  rises,  her  face  bathed  with  tears.) 
Am  I  so  very  old  Gerald,  too  old  for  you  to 
love,  too  old  to  love  you? 
62 


Act  I 

GERALD 

(Impulsively  runs  to  her  and  takes  her 

into  his  arms.) 

Lisa!  Oh,  it's  good  to  love  you,  and  it's 
not  half  bad  to  kiss  you  either.  I  dare  say 
that's  all  you  want.  I  tell  you  Lisa  it  isn't 
that  I'm  not  grateful  to  you.  Why  you've 
been  the  most  exquisite,  magnificent,  the  most 
ideal  mistress  a  man  ever  had. 

LISA 

Gerald.  .  .  . 

(Pushing  him  away.) 

GERALD 

What  else  would  you  call  it?  Have  you 
the  faintest  idea  of  what  it  means  to  be  a  wife? 

LISA 

Gerald. 

GERALD 

You've  lived  with  me,  but  have  you  ever 
been  a  wife  to  me?    Why,  my  dear  girl,  have 
you  ever  stopped  to  think  that  if  I  hadn't 
63 


Enter  Madame 

been  the  impetuous,  well  brought  up  young 
fool  that  I  was,  I  need  never  have  married  you. 
It  wouldn't  have  made  the  least  difference. 

LISA 

Gerald !    This  is  too  much.  .  .  . 
(Crosses  to  L.) 

GERALD 

Just  a  few  hurried  words  before  a  justice 
of  the  peace.  And  the  joke  of  it.  ...  The 
first  thing  you  did  was  to  lose  your  marriage 
certificate,  the  next  thing  was  to  lose  your 
ring !  The  other  day  I  looked  for  my  marriage 
lines  and  I'll  be  hanged  if  /  know  where  they 
are.  ...  In  order  to  prove  we  are  married 
at  all  I'll  have  to  hunt  up  the  files  of  the  Ar 
chives  in  Milan.  And  look  at  our  life — God 
the  whole  thing  is  the  damnedest  joke  there  is. 

LISA 

(Angerly.) 

Gerald,  I'll  never  forgive  you  the  longest 
day  I  live.    Very  well,  then  divorce,  divorce, 
64 


Act  I 

you  shall  have  it.  Oh,  I  wish  I  had  it  here 
now  that  I  might  throw  it  in  your  sneering 
face. 

(Enter  TAMAMOTO.) 

TAMAMOTO 

Mrs.  Preston  calling.  .  .  . 

LISA 

(Hysterically.) 

No,  no,  no,  go  away,  I  won't  see  her!    I 
will  not  see  her. 

(Exit  TAMAMOTO.) 
(To  GERALD.) 

Go,  go,  go,  I  don't  want  to  set  eyes  upon 
your  face  again. 

GERALD 

(Exits.) 

(LISA,  left  alone  stands  for  a  moment  as 
if  turned  to  stone.  Then  a  tremen 
dous  paroxysm  of  rage  shakes  her  from 
head  to  foot.  She  is  very  still,  very 
silent,  wave  upon  wave  of  fury  passes 


Enter  Madame 

down  her  rigid  body;  she  twists  a  help 
less  pillow  in  her  hands;  twice  a  scream 
seems  about  to  break  from  her  throat 
but  each  time  it  is  painfully  choked 
back — finally  catching  sight  of  FLORA'S 
unhappy  bouquet,  with  one  sweep  of 
a  stiff  arm  she  drags  it  to  the  floor. 
At  the  noise  of  its  falling  the  doors 
open,  and  her  servants  all  rush  to  her. 
The  chef  with  a  cup  of  broth;  BICE 
with  a  fan,  while  the  doctor  carries 
her  to  the  arm-chair.  They  all  gather 
about  her.) 
(JOHN  enters.) 

JOHN 
Mother  dear,  mother. 

LISA 

(Shrieking  hysterically.) 
John,  John,  he  has  broken  my  heart.     I 
only  wanted  to  be  loved.    What  have  I  done 
to  deserve  all  this ! 

66 


Act  I 

JOHN 

I  am  here  mother,  I'll  protect  you.  I'll 
give  my  life  to  you. 

LISA 

(Absentmindedly  patting  him.) 
Thank  you  Johnnie  dear,  thank  you. 

(Then  weakly.) 
I  must  rest — Oh,  what  a  face  I  must  have! 

JOHN 

You  do  look  tired ! 

LISA 

Do  I  look  old? — Oh,  Madonna!  Do  I  look 
very  old!  Bice — send  for  someone — a  facial 
massage,  a  hot  bath,  a  masseuse,  presto  per 

Vamor  di  Dio 

(Exit  BICE  at  R.) 

JOHN 

Doctor,  can't  you  give  her  something  to 
make  her  sleep  ? 

67 


Enter  Madame 
LISA 

Johnnie  dear.  .  .  . 

(Raises  herself  half  to  her  feet.) 
This  is  check?  but  not  yet  checkmate! — this  is 
war  but  not  defeat !  .  .  . 

(Enter  BICE  with  a  beautiful  tea  gown) 

BICE 

• 

See  Madame  what  I  get  for  you!    Isn't  it 

beautiful  ? 

LISA 

(Looking  at  the  tea  gown.) 
(Suddenly    forgets    her    troubles,     she 
smiles  up  at  BICE,   her  breath  still 
catches  in  her  throat  as  the  hysteria 
subsides  slowly.) 

Ma  guarda  quanto  e  carino!  tutte  quei  ghiri 
gori  sono  interessanti!  ma  Sai  ci  vorrebbe 
qualche  cosa  con  un  po  piu  di  brio  un  po  piu 
di  slancio! 

CURTAIN 


68 


ACT  II 

The  time  that  elapses  is  the  time  it  takes  to  get 
the  first  decree  of  divorce.  It  is  early  after  - 

•  noon  and  Madame  is  taking  her  nap.  The 
little  parlour  is  bathed  in  the  soft  glow  of  the 
sun  and  of  a  large  fire  that  is  burning  in  the 
grate. 

BICE,  MISS  SMITH,  the  DOCTOR,  and  ARCHIMEDE 
are  standing  together  in  a  hushed  group, 
thoughtfully,  sorrowfully,  like  people  who 
have  just  received  a  blow.  BICE  is  crying. 

BICE 

Ah,  my  Signora,  my  gay  little  Signora — it 
will  kill  her. 

MISS   SMITH 

(Deprecatingly.) 

Oh  I  don't  think  it  will  kill  her. 
69 


Enter  Madame 

THE  DOCTOR 

Spirits  of  ammonia  and  perhaps  I  will 
even  go  so  far  as  a  mild  injection  of  mor 
phine,  ver'  mild,  ver'  mild;  with  Madame 
one  must  be  careful,  the  reactions  are  too 
violent. 

ARCHIMEDE 

I  will  cook  her  risotto  that  will  be  better. 
I  have  know  her  to  eat  it  with  gusto  when 
she  was  in  such  sorrow  that  the  tears  run 
down  her  face  into  the  plate. 

BICE 

Oh,  you  all — you  don't  know  her  as  I  know. 
These  last  two  weeks  I  sleep  in  there.  Every 
night  she  go  to  sleep  on  my  breast  like  a  child. 
"Bice,"  she  say,  "perhaps  he  come  back  to 
morrow"  every  night  she  say,  "perhaps  he 
come  back  tomorrow"  and  I  say,  "but 
Madame  refuse  to  see  him  when  he  come." 
"Perhaps  he  come  anyway,"  she  say,  "per 
haps  he  break  in  the  door  and  cry :  '  my  Lisa ! 
70 


Act  II 

the  sun  is  gone  out  of  my  Heaven,  since  Lisa 
is  gone  out  of  my  life !' " 

MISS  SMITH 
Mr.  Gerald  is  an  Irishman,  isn't  he? 

BICE 

Yes. 

MISS   SMITH 

Well,  then  perhaps  he  might  behave  that 
way. 

DOCTOR 

Mr.  Fitzgerald  has  come  again  and  again. 
I  open  the  door  to  him  myself  once;  he  say: 
"I  want  to  apologize  to  her,  doctor,  try  to 
persuade  her  to  see  me,"  but  she  would  not. 

BICE 

(Goes  to  door  of  bedroom  and  listens.) 
She  wanted  him  to  break  in  the  door.  Now 
it's  too  late. 

MISS  SMITH 

The  best  thing  is  work — she  must  plunge 
right  into  work.  Weissman  wants  her  for  a 


Enter  Madame 

concert  tour,  it's  an  amazing  amount  of 
money.  He's  been  pestering  the  life  out  of  us. 
She  might  as  well  take  it.  We  must  urge  her 
to  take  it. 

(Enter  JOHN.) 

JOHN 

(To  MISS  SMITH)  down  C.  rises  goes  up 

c.) 

Where  is  she?    I  came  as  soon  as  I  got  your 
message.    Does  she  know  already? 

BICE 

She's  still  asleep.    We  thought  it  would  be 
better  if  you  broke  the  news  to  her. 

JOHN 

Is  that  the  lawyer's  letter? 

MISS  SMITH 
(Hands  him  the  letter.) 
It's  the  announcement  of  the  court  grant 
ing  the  decree  of  divorce. 

72 


Act  II 

JOHN 

We'll  have  to  take  mother  back  to  Europe 
now.  I'll  go  along  of  course.  I  suppose 
father  will  want  to  marry  right  away,  and 
mother  mustn't  be  here. 

BICE 

Oh,  no!  Nothing  of  the  kind,  the  old 
libertine  will  have  to  wait.  I  beg  your  pardon 
of  course,  but  he  is  a  pig  and  a  libertine  that 
breaks  my  Signer  a' s  heart. 

JOHN 

Why  would  he  have  to  wait? 

BICE 

It  is  the  law. 

MISS   SMITH 

The  decree  will  not  be  absolute,  except 
after  the  lapse  of  three  months. 

JOHN 

Why  then  they  are  not  divorced. 
73 


Oh,  yes. 


Enter  Madame 

BICE 
MISS   SMITH 


It's  a  formality. 

DOCTOR 

They  are  divorced. 


(All 
Together) 


MISS  SMITH 

It's  just  that  they  can't  remarry  before  the 
three  months  are  over. 

(From  the  inner  room  comes  a  cascade 
of  coloratura,  trills,  runs  ending  with: 
"Bice,  Bice,  Bice!'1 

"Vieni  sul,  mio  core  amor  el"  The 
door  is  thrown  open  and  LISA  enters 
in  high  good  humour  fresh  from  a 
good  sleep.  She  wears  an  entranc 
ing  negligee,  and  her  hair  is  loosely 
knotted.  She  stands  smiling  brightly 
on  the  assembled  crowd  of  worried 
people.} 

74 


Act  II 

LISA 

(Brightly.} 

Guarda  quanta  gentei  Cosa,  c'e.  Oh 
Johnnie  all  dressed  up,  where  are  you  going? 
Johnnie,  don't  look  like  that  no  matter  what 
has  happened  you  must  not  look  like  that. 
Never!  Miss  Smith — out,  out!  you  know  I 
cannot  bear  to  wait,  I  never  wait!  What  is, 
What  is,  what  is !  Quick ! 

MISS   SMITH 

(Quickly  handing  paper.) 
The  first  decree  of  divorce. 

(LISA  takes  the  paper,  she  looks  at  it,  she 
looks  at  it  a  long  time.  The  crew  of  de 
pendents  stiffen  and  get  ready,  the  DOC- 
"•»  TOR  edges  quietly  towards  the  glass  of 
spirits  of  ammonia  and  takes  it  into  his 
hand;  BICE  gets  into  position  to  catch 
her  if  she  drops,  they  all  look  tense.) 

LISA 

(Wistfully.) 

He  did  not  break  in  the  door! 
75 


Enter  Madame 

(Then  with  sudden  tenderness.) 
My   dears,   my   friends,    all  worried  about 
me;  how  lucky  I  am  to  be  so  blessed.     Bice, 
Vecchia  arnica!  qua  dammi  un  bacio. 

(Kisses  her.) 

Dio  ti  benedica,  vecchia  buorf arnica — cari 
tutti,  thank  you.  There,  that's  enough,  we 
need  calm,  strength,  thought.  It  is  not  all 
over,  oh  no !  Please  go — open  a  bottle  of  wine, 
Archimede,  all  drink  my  health.  Da  bravi 
— via  coraggio!  I  will  be  alone  with  my  son. 

(They  all  exit  quietly,  rather  dazed  with 
a  few  broken  murmurs;  the  only 
things  they  can  think  of.) 

(LISA  left  alone  with  her  boy  returns  to 

her  sad  mood.) 
He  did  not  break  in  the  door. 

(Sits  on  the  sofa.) 

JOHN 

(Sitting  on  arm  of  sofa.) 
You  are  an  amazing  woman,  mother,  you 
never  do  what's  expected  of  you. 

76 


Act  II 

LISA 

No  one  does  what  is  expected  of  them,  it  is 
such  a  puzzle.  They  say  there  are  great  pitch 
black  spaces  between  the  stars,  I  think  they 
are  between  the  people  too,  oh  quite  pitch. 

JOHN 

Pitch  black,  darling. 

LISA 

(Absently.) 

Yes,  pitch,  very  pitch.  Now  you  are  my 
son,  and  yet  you  do  not  understand  me,  nor  I 
you.  You  stand  up  there,  and  there's  blood 
of  mine  running  very  busy  in  and  out  of  all 
the  little  veins ;  there  should  be  thoughts  like 
me  darting  about  the  brain  I  gave  to  you — 
why  are  there  not? 

JOHN 

I  grew  up  away  from  you,  I  confess,  it's 
hard  for  me  to  understand  you. 

LISA 

Yet  you  love  me? 

77 


Enter  Madame 

JOHN 

Yes,  mother,  very  much. 

LISA 
You  love  Aline  ? 

JOHN 

Yes,  mother,  very  much. 

LISA 

You  say  the  two  just  alike,  there  is  not  one 
speck  of  difference  in  the  tone.  You  don't 
feel  just  alike? 

JOHN 

You  can't  go  about  feeling  and  shouting 
about  it,  you  know.  It  isn't  done. 

LISA 

(With  a  flash  of  understanding.) 
Ah! 

(Then  thoughtfully.) 

What  would  you  do  if  Aline  should  say  to 
you:  Go  away,  go  away,  I  don't  want  to  see 
your  face  again. 

78 


Act  II 

JOHN 

I'd  go. 

LISA 

To  stay? 

JOHN 
Of  course. 

LISA 

Could  you  live  without  her? 

JOHN 

Yes,  if  I  must. 

LISA 

Monstrous ! 

JOHN 

Mother   dear,    do   you   love   my   father? 
Would  you  mind  telling  me,  that  is  ... 

LISA 

Mind?    Why  should  I?    It  is  a  privilege 
to  have  a  great  feeling  to  express  and  why 
should  I  keep  it  to  myself?     Imagine  it, 
79 


Enter  Madame 

Love?  Why  I  can  sing  love  as  no  one  else 
can. 

(Sing$.) 

"  Vieni,  vieni,  fra  le  mie  braccia,  amore,  de- 
lizia  e  vita  non  mi  sarai  rapita,  fin  ch  io,  ti 
string  7  cor." 

(Rises.) 

What  a  phrase,  my  God,  what  a  phrase! 
What  a  phrase!  Do  you  realize,  you  cold 
blocks  who  go  to  the  opera,  the  soul  that  we 
burn  before  you,  the  melody  pours  like  incense 
smoke  from  the  censers  that  are  our  hearts? 

JOHN 

Yes,  but  is  that  loving  father? 

LISA 

Why,  you  blockhead,  do  you  believe  I  think 
of  the  fat  little  tenor  with  the  short  neck,  and 
his  eyes  full  of  food,  when  I  sing  that? 

JOHN 

But  what  good  can  it  do  father  to  have  you 
sing  to  him  when  he  isn't  there? 
80 


Act  II 

LISA 

We  are  almost  always  together  in  the 
summer.  Oh  the  romance!  I  always  sing  it 
all  into  my  music  afterwards. 

JOHN 

But  don't  you  see  ... 

LISA 

(Testily.) 

No,  I  don't  see — why  I  love  him  the  most 
beautiful  way!  All  my  heart  throbs  in  my 
throat — why  do  you  suppose  the  birds  sing? — 
for  a  living  perhaps:  .  .  .  the  nightingale 
for  a  thousand  a  night  whistles  her  sorrows  to 
the  moon?  No,  it  is  the  necessity  to  express 
in  music  the  great  tragedy  of  love, — it  is 
the  dramatic  soprano  of  the  birds,  the  lark 
is  the  lyric,  the  canary  is  the  coloratura 
singer. 

JOHN 

But  mother  .  .  . 
6  81 


Enter  Madame 

LISA 

Oh,  I  cannot  explain  ...  I  wish  I  could — 
perhaps  it  is  something  like  this  .  .  .  you 
know  a  little  of  electricity? 

JOHN 

Well,  I  am  going  to  be  an  electrical  engineer 
one  of  these  days. 

LISA 

It  is  a  force — it  is  a  force  of  life,  hunting, 
hunting  for  a  way  to  express  itself.  Some 
times  it  finds  cold  blocks  that  it  cannot  move 
at  all,  that  is  a  non-conductor,  eh?  Some 
times  it  finds  a  way,  and  the  rush  of  the 
force  .  .  . 

JOHN 

.  .  .  moves  trains  and  ships,  and  lights 
cities? 

LISA 

(Hurriedly.) 

Yes,  yes,  I  prefer  the  glory  of  the  storm. 
82 


Act  II 

JOHN 

Sheer  waste. 

LISA 

Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that,  I  only  know 
that  the  storm  is  beautiful,  moving,  sublime ! 
Now  there  is  a  force  of  feeling  .  .  .  hunting, 
hunting  to  express  itself. 

JOHN 

The  force  of  feeling,  as  you  call  it,  lights 
hearths  and  makes  homes. 

LISA 

Yes,  yes,  and  the  storm  of  feeling  makes  art ! 
I  am  a  cross  current ! 

JOHN 

Well,  how  can  father  enjoy  life  if  you  short 
circuit  him  all  the  time.  .  .  . 

LISA 

(Struck  suddenly.) 

I  don't  know,  I  don't  know.    I  only  know 
83 


Enter  Madame 

that  I  am  unhappy.  I  wander  about  here 
touching  the  things  that  belong  to  him.  I 
sit  here  in  his  chair 

(Sits  there.) 

and  imagine  that  I  am  curled  up  in  his  lap, 
only  the  arms  don't  come  together  around 
me  ...  they  just  stick  out — 

(LISA  beats  the  arms  of  the  chair  in  a  fit 
of  childish  temper;  then  suddenly 
remembers  her  son.) 

Oh,  how  can  I  make  you  understand — you, 
young,  you  with  your  quiet  love  and  your  cold 
science.  You  see,  it's  like  a  little  message 
over  you,  Marconi  that  has  got  lost.  Some 
times  one  hears  them  weakly  beating  against 
the  keys  across  leagues  of  stormy  seas. 
S.  O.  vS.  S.  O.  S.  Oh,  give  my  love  back  to 
me — or  I  die! 

(JOHN  takes  her  in  his  arms.) 

JOHN 

Mother  dear,  I  wish  I  could  help  you — 
can't  you  accept  Weissman's  offer?    It  would 
84 


Act  I! 

take  your  mind  off  things.    Wouldn't  singing 
help  you  to  forget? 

LISA 

Oh,  no,  John  dear,  music  vibrates  in  the 
memory.  My  life  with  Gerald  is  so  closely 
woven  through  with  song,  that  if  they  were  to 
pluck  my  Gerald  out,  the  rest  would  fall  in 
little  heaps  of  ravellings  all  about.  Oh,  I  could 
not  bear  to  sing. 

JOHN 
What  are  we  to  do,  mother? 

LISA 
(Restlessly.) 

Yes.  What  are  we  to  do?  What  are 
we  to  do?  I  have  thought  of  many  things. 
I've  thought  of  many  ways  to  win  him 
back,  but  he's  not  like  other  men,  he  pricks 
my  little  bubbles — he'd  say :  Come  off,  Lisa, 
come  off — don't  act — and  what  am  I  to 
do? 

85 


Enter  Madame 

JOHN 

It  doesn't  seem  to  me  it's  any  use  thinking 
of  romance  now.  I'm  not  quite  sure  it  would 
be  dignified.  Father's  not  behaved  very  well. 

LISA 

He's  been  a  pig. 

JOHN 

That's  just  it.  If  you  were  to  go  on  refusing 
to  see  him  and  to  go  away  without  a  word  it 
would  be  no  more  than  he  deserves. 

LISA 

Oh,  no,  I  couldn't  bear  to  do  that. 

JOHN 

Well  then,  see  him  once,  shake  hands  with 
him  quietly,  say  that  you  hope  he  will  be 
happy.  .  .  . 

LISA 

I'll  wear  my  black  velvet  trimmed  with 
chincilla!  .  .  . 

86 


Act  II 

JOHN 

That  you  will  think  of  him  kindly  and  that 
you  hope  he  will  be  happy. 

LISA 
You  said  that  before. 

JOHN 

It  sounds  dignified. 

LISA 

But  you  don't  have  to  say  it  twice,  once 
will  do. 

JOHN 

Well,  anything  you  like,  but  .  .  . 

(Enter  GERALD,   he  stands  irresolute, 
holding  his  hat.) 

LISA 
Ah! 

(JOHN  makes  movement  to  get  out.    LISA 

holds  him  back.) 

John  come  back  at  eight  and  bring  Aline. 
(Kisses  him.) 

87 


Enter  Madame 

JOHN 

(At  door.) 
Good  evening,  sir  ... 

GERALD 

Good  evening,  see  you  soon. 
(Exit  JOHN.) 

LISA 

Won't  you — sit  down?  I  must  apologize 
for  my  costume.  I  have  been  asleep,  and  then 
John  came — et — me  void.  .  .  .  This  is 
scarcely  the  costume  for  a  divorcee.  I  must 
be  careful  now. 

GERALD 

Never  mind  your  clothes.  I  broke  in  on 
you, — I  .  .  .  have  been  wanting  to  see  you 
since  that  awful  day.  I  didn't  want  you  to 
go  away  remembering  the  things  I  said.  I 
don't  know  what  came  over  me,  I  think  it  was 
because  you  tried  to  make  a  fool  of  me. 

LISA 

I  tried  to  make  a  fool  of  you ! 
88 


Act  II 

GERALD 

You  did,  you  know,  Lisa — you  did  try  .  .  . 

LISA 

The  other  lady  never  tries  to  make  fool  of 
you? 

GERALD 

Oh,  dear  no,  she  hasn't  the  wit. 

LISA 

Oh,  I  don't  know,  a  woman's  wit  it  isn't 
always  on  the  surface. 

GERALD 

It's  you  I  want  to  speak  of.  I  was  so 
beastly  about  your  age,  as  if  you  could  help  it. 

LISA 

Gerald,  you  know  you  are  not  my  husband 
any  more  and  I  must  have  respect  from  men 
who  are  not  my  husband. 

GERALD 

Good  Heavens,  I  don't  know  what  I'm 
saying.    I  was  so  afraid  you'd  slip  away  with- 
89 


Enter  Madame 

out  my  having  another  glimpse  of  you.    You 
know  you  look  exquisitely  young  tonight. 

LISA 

(Furiously  jumping  to  her  feet.) 
Again  my  age,  but  you  know,  Gerald,  I  am 
getting  tired  of  my  age ! 

(Enter  ARCHIMEDE  with  a  large  cooked 
goose  on  a  platter.) 

ARCHIMEDE 

Si  po'  Signora  cosa  ne  dice,  eh?    Cold  roast 
goose ! 

GERALD 

The  bird  of  peace! 

ARCHIMEDE 

Si  Signore!     Stuffed  with  capon,   sweet 
breads,  sausage  meat,  and  rosemary.  .  .  . 

LISA 

(Sniffing  joyfully.) 

Truffles — mushrooms,      macaroons,      and 
cream. 

90 


Act  II 

ARCHIMEDE 

All  chopped  ver'  fine. 

LISA 
A  dash  of  Tokay  wine. 

GERALD 

Ah,  frankincense  and  myrrh — oh  dreams  of 
Araby! 

LISA 
I  have  it,  I  have  it. 

GERALD 

What's  that? 

LISA 

( Triumphantly.) 
You  come  and  sup  with  me! 

GERALD 

By  Jove! 

LISA 

And  bring  the  lady. 


Enter  Madame 

GERALD 


What! 


LISA 

Why  not?    The  bird  of  peace — a  nice  cold 
supper.  ...  I  have  a  good  champagne.  .  .  . 

ARCHIMEDE 

Bravi,  bravi! 

LISA 
Can  you  get  ready  quickly? 

ARCHIMEDE 

I  have  a  salad  that  is  a  dream  of  spring! 

LISA 

Gerald — rush,  get  the  lady!    I  dress — like 
a  flash! 

GERALD 

By  Jove,  Lisa,  you  can't  be  beat! 
92 


Act  II 

LISA 

You  bet  your  life  I  can't  be  beat!    Bice! 
Bice! 

(Runs  to  door  R.) 
(Enter  BICE  R.) 

BICE 

Si,  Signora.  .  .  . 

LISA 

Signer  Gerald  is  coming  to  supper!    Is  not 
that  splendid! 

BICE 

(With  a  cry  of  joy.) 
Ah !    Grazie  al  cielo ! 

LISA 

And  he  bring  the  NICE  lady  that  he  is  to 
many! 

BICE 

Oh,    my   God  .  .  .     Ma  perche'   invitare 
quella  donna! 

93 


Enter  Madame 

LISA 

Sta  cheta!  lascia  fare  a  me!  Mi  metto  il 
.  .  .  nuovo  Paquin!  Corri  da  brava  fac- 
ciamo  una  toilette  coi  fiocchi ! 

(Runs  to  C.) 

(BICE  exit.) 
Dottore!    Miss  Smith,  quick!  quick! 

(Enter  DOCTOR  and  MISS  SMITH  L.  C.) 

(R.   C.  ARCHIMEDE  follows  with  tray, 

table-doth,  etc.) 

My  husband  is  coming  to  supper  with  the 
lady  he  loves.  We  have  supper  as  soon  as 
possible.  Be  darlings  and  help  to  get  ready. 

(Exit  LISA  into  bedroom.) 

DOCTOR 

Per  bacco!    With  joy,  with  joy! 

MISS   SMITH 

(Stays  rooted  on  the  door-sill  a  second.) 

DOCTOR 

Come,  come,  Miss  Smith,  your  reactions 
are  too  slow. 

94 


Act  II 

MISS   SMITH 

Oh,  all  right,  all  right. 

DOCTOR 

The  great  secret  of  speed  is  scientific  or 
ganization,  efficiency. 

MISS  SMITH 

Give  me  a  sample  by  moving  that  divan 
into  that  corner. 

DOCTOR 

All  right.    Archimede  una  mano. 
(They  move  divan.) 

MISS  SMITH 
Be  careful.    Don't  jam  the  furniture. 

ARCHIMEDE 

It's  all  right,  Miss  Smith.    It  no  belong  to 
Madame  anyway. 

MISS  SMITH 

There's  a  foreigner  for  you.     Now,  move 
the  table  down  a  little,  now  the  table-cloth. 
95 


Enter  Madame 

My  word  is  she  going  to  eat  off  brocade  again  ? 
I  should  think  under  the  circumstances  she'd 
like  to  eat  like  a  Christian. 

DOCTOR 

Oh,  Miss  Smith,  you  have  not  the  soul  of 
the  Artist. 

MISS   SMITH 

No,  thank  God. 

ARCHIMEDE 

(Throws  napkins  in  places.) 

MISS   SMITH 

Stop  throwing  things.    Where  do  you  think 
you  are.    This  isn't  an  Italian  table  d'hote. 
(During  the  setting  of  the  table  LISA  is 
heard  singing  off  R.  while  dressing 
for  supper.) 

ARCHIMEDE 

All  right  Miss  Smith. 
96 


Act  II 

MISS   SMITH 

Oh,  we  have  enough  singing.     Let's  have 
some  supper. 

(The  table  is  ready.  The  DOCTOR  enters 
with  two  candles,  placing  them  on 
the  table.) 

LISA 

(0/Jt) 

Non  Scordate  lo  Champagne  dottore. 

DOCTOR 

Di  certo  lo  champagne. 
(Door-bell  rings.) 

(BICE  runs  to  open.  Enter  JOHN  and 
ALINE.) 

LISA 

(Entering) 
My  God,  the  babies ! 

JOHN 

Mother,  you'd  already  forgotten  that  you'd 
asked  us  to  come. 

97 


Enter  Madame 

LISA 

I  just  remember  with  a  shock  of  joy.  The 
darling  children ! 

(Kisses  them  warmly.) 

ALINE 

Oh,  how  beautiful  you  are! 

LISA 

You  look  sweet,  my  darling,  go  in  to  Bice ; 
lay  your  wraps  aside,  look  in  my  glass  with 
the  pink  lights  and  see  how  beautiful  you  are. 

(Exit  ALINE  into  bedroom.) 

(LISA  turns  to  JOHN.) 

JOHN 
What  a  lot  of  places — who's  coming? 

LISA 
My  Gerald  and  Mrs.  Preston. 

JOHN 
What? 

98 


Act  II 

LISA 

I  followed  your  advice,  you  say,  "see  him 
once  say  that  you  hope  he  will  be  happy." 
This  is  much  better;  I  will  make  the  speech 
to  both. 

JOHN 

It's  a  good  idea.  Of  course  it's  unconven 
tional,  but  it's  sporting  and  dignified.  I  am 
sorry  you  let  Aline  come.  Aline  should  not 
be  in  on  this. 

LISA 

Why  not?    It's  such  a  good  supper. 

'     JOHN 

Well,  it  isn't  exactly  the  situation  in  which 
to  put  a  young  girl. 

LISA 

Mercy,  John,  where  did  you  get  all  your 
beautiful  propriety. 

JOHN 

Someone  had  to  have  it  in  this  family. 
(Enter  ALINE.) 

99 


Enter  Madame 

ALINE 

Your  room  is  so  exotic  I  love  it !    I  am  going 
to  be  just  like  you  when  I  get  married. 
(LISA  roars  with  laughter.) 
(Enter  GERALD  and  MRS.  PRESTON.) 

GERALD 

(Introducing.) 
Mrs.  Preston,  Mme.  Delia  Robbia! 

LISA 

(After  a  pause  they  meet  in  front  of 

table  and  shake  hands.) 
Delighted.    It  was  so  good  of  you  to  come. 

FLORA 

It  was  charming  of  you  to  ask  me. 

LISA 

Just  a  little  family  supper.    You  belong  in 
the  family  now  you  know.    I  don't  know  yet 
just  exactly  what  relation  we  are  to  be  to  one 
100 


Act  II 

another,  but  something  surely.    My  English 
is  so  shaky.    Wives-in-law,  is  it  not? 
(GERALD  stamps  his  foot  angrily.) 

FLORA 

I  couldn't  say — what  an  idea 

LISA 

Well  at  any  rate  I  feel  sure  that  we  should 
not  be  strangers.  We  have  so  much  in  com 
mon  now. 

(Enter  DOCTOR  and  MISS  SMITH.) 

My  dear  family,  Mrs.  Preston.  My  doctor, 
my  secretary,  of  course  you  know  the 
children.  Mrs.  Preston,  you  sit  at  the  head 
of  the  table.  Gerald,  you  next  to  Mrs.  Pres 
ton — of  course.  Aline  there,  Miss  Smith 
here.  John  on  the  other  side  of  Mrs.  Preston; 
and  Dottore  near  me.  It  is  not  a  well  bal 
anced  dinner  party,  it  would  never  do  in  a 
storm,  but  perhaps  it  will  sail  successfully  in 
these  calm  and  sunny  seas. 

(BICE  and  ARCHIMEDE  serve  the  supper.) 

1 01 


Enter  Madame 

GERALD 

Truffles,  by  Jove,  you  know.  Truffles  don't 
taste  like  anything  as  they  cook  them  on  this 
side. 

ARCHIMEDE 

Those  truffles  come  from  my  farm  in  Tus 
cany.  Radames  and  I  hunt  for  them  last 
June,  he  with  his  nose  and  I  with  my  stick  to 
hit  him  over  the  head  whenever  he  find  a 
truffle ;  he  loves  truffles,  that  Radames. 

FLORA 

Mercy,  who's  Radames,  your  son? 

ARCHIMEDE 

No,  my  pig,  Madame,  a  great  hunter  of 
truffles. 

FLORA 

What  a  strange  name  for  a  pig. 

ARCHIMEDE 

Why  not  Madame?  He  enjoys  it,  poor 
fellow,  it  gives  him  style  before  the  other  pigs. 

102 


Act  II 

My  cow  I  name  Aida,  my  ox  Don  Bartolo — 
they  are  all  ver'  pleased. 

GERALD 

So  you  will  retire  to  your  farm  when  you 
get  old? 

ARCHIMEDE 

Oh,  well,  some  day !    I  am  young  yet ! 

GERALD 

By  Jove,  doctor,  that  reminds  me,  why 
aren't  you  in  Rimini?  I  thought  you  had 
bought  a  little  practice  there  and  had  gone  to 
settle  down  for  the  rest  of  your  life? 

DOCTOR 

Oh,  yes,  I  did  leave  Madame  two  years  ago, 
the  last  time  you  and  Madame  were  together 
in  Viareggio.  I  had  the  rheumatism  and  I  got 
the  home  sickness.  I  run  down  to  Rimini 
where  is  my  old  sister.  Her  husband  is  dead, 
her  daughter  is  married.  So  she  say,  why  you 
run  all  around  the  world  in  your  rheumatism? 
Stay  here,  I  cook  for  you.  So  I  stay. 
103 


Enter  Madame 
GERALD 

Well,  weren't  you  happy? 

DOCTOR 

Oh,  yes,  the  people  are  healthy  in  Rimini. 
I  have  little  to  do.  My  sister  cook  well,  my 
rheumatism  go. 

GERALD 

Well,  why  didn't  you  stay? 

DOCTOR 

Well,  I  tell  you.  An  opera  company  come  to 
Rimini  and  they  give  La  Forza  del  Destino,  I 
go.  The  soprano  is  a  cow.  I  beat  my  head 
against  the  seat  in  front  and  I  yell:  No!  no! 
no!  non  e  cosi  che  si  dice  corpo  di  Bacco! 
And  I  run  out.  Imagine  I  hear  Bartelozzi  in 
Milan 

LISA 

Oh,  Bartelozzi. 

DOCTOR 

Of    course    she    does    not    compare    with 
Madame  but  she  is  a  very  good  dramatic. 
104 


Act  II 

BICE 

Ma  che — la  Bartelozzi  non  sa  cantare. 

DOCTOR 

Come  non  sa  cantare. 

ARCHIMEDE 

Se  parlasse  della  Cantini.  .  .  . 

BICE 

Ma  che!  la  Cantini — canta  come  una  cag- 
netta  scorticata. 

(There  is  a  general  uproar.) 

DOCTOR 

Ma  tu  trovi  a  ridire  di  tutte!    la  Bartelozzi 
e  una  grande  artista. 

GERALD 

(Goes  to  ARCHIMEDE    and   pulls  him 
away.     After  quieting  them  all,  he 
resumes  his  place  at  table.) 
Ah  si   quello  e  vero  grande   artista.     I've 
heard  her  in  lots  of  things.    She  sings  Valen- 
tina  in  the  Huguenots  magnificently  you  know. 
105 


Enter  Madame 

DOCTOR 

Ecco!  II  Signor  Geraldo,  he  say  so  too  and 
he  is  a  connoisseur  in  the  aria  with  the  tenor; 
what  a  beauty !  Scusateme,  I  will  play  it  for 
you. 

ARCHIMEDE 

I  get  my  flute. 

LISA 

Yes,  yes,  Archimede,  get  the  flute. 

(ARCHIMEDE  exits  and  enters  with  flute. 
Goes  to  piano  and  plays.) 

GERALD 

(Goes  to  LISA,  listens  to  music;  almost 
involuntarily  he  takes  her  in  his  arms 
and  kisses  her;  just  as  abruptly  he 
releases  her  as  FLORA  gasps  in  her 
fury.) 

BICE 

(Interrupting  music.) 
Gia — just  what  I  say. 

(Imitates  the  exaggerated  sentimentality 
of  the  interpretation.) 
106 


Act  II 

So  sentimental  and  languid — it  make  your 
stockings  fall  down. 

(They  all  return  to  their  places  at  the 
table.) 

(ARCHIMEDE  exits.) 

LISA 

Bice,  per  V  amor  di  Dio,  ti  Scordi  davanti 
alia  sposa  Americana! 

BICE 

Madonna  mia! 

GERALD 

Pass  the  salad !    Have  some  salad,  Flora? 

FLORA 

Thank  you,  not  any  more. 

GERALD 

Oh — so  you  left  Rimini,  doctor? 

DOCTOR 

Yes,  the  music  is  in  the  blood  worse  than 
the  rheumatism,  it  make  me  suffer  more;  and 
107 


Enter  Madame 

the  memories  stab  my  heart  a  hundred  times 
a  day; — and  pictures  of  the  past  come  up 
quickly  in  idle  moments.  A  great  life  of 
pictures — we  lead — I  could  not  stand  to  give 
pills  and  powders — Madame  took  me  back 
and  here  I  am. 

GERALD 

A  great  life  of  pictures. 

DOCTOR 

Well,  Signor  Gerald,  this  is  the  last  of  the 
jolly  little  suppers. 

GERALD 

Your  health,  doctor. 

DOCTOR 

We  have  drink  the  health  together  in  every 
corner  of  the  globe.  Cairo,  Petrograd,  Buenos 
Ayres,  Milan — it  was  not  a  bad  little  life. 

GERALD 

Yes,  it  was  a  good  little  life  while  it  lasted. 
1 08 


Act  II 

FLORA 

Madame  Delia  Robbia,  I  hear  you  are  to 
be  married  again? 

LISA 

(Surprised.) 

JOHN 

What's  that  mother,  you  never  mentioned 
it  to  me.  Now  that  father's  gone  you  ought 
to  advise  with  me  you  know. 

GERALD 

Dash  it  all,  don't  you  talk  as  if  I  were 
dead. 

FLORA 

Gerald  told  me  of  your  wonderful  romance 
with  a  poet.  I  understood  him  to  say  you 
were  engaged! 

JOHN 

Why  mother! 

109 


Enter  Madame 
LISA 

I  haven't  the  faintest  idea  of  what  you  are 
talking  about! 

(The  telephone  rings.} 
Miss  Smith,  will  you  answer  that? 

MISS   SMITH 

(At  phone.) 

Hello  .  .  .  yes,  this  is  her  secretary  .  .  . 
Oh,  no,  we  haven't  decided  yet — you  see 
Madame  has  been  so  busy — oh,  the  steamer 
starts  tomorrow? — well,  then  it's  too  late — 
we  couldn't  possibly  be  off  so  quickly. 

LISA 

Who  is  that? 

MISS   SMITH 

It's  Weissman,  he  says  this  is  his  last  chance, 
that  the  Vasari  leaves  for  Buenos  Ayres  to 
morrow.  He  wants  to  know  if  you  won't 
sign  that  contract.  He's  secured  passage  on 
the  chance  that  you'll  decide  to  go. 

(Into  phone.) 

Yes — wait  a  minute.    Heavens  he's  weeping. 
no 


Act  II 

LISA 

(Suddenly.) 
We  go  to  Buenos  Ayres  tomorrow. 

MISS   SMITH 

But  the  boat  leaves  at  one. 

LISA 

We  go  at  one  tomorrow. 

MISS   SMITH 
(To  LISA.) 

Do  you  really  mean  it,  Madame? 

LISA 

Yes,  I  mean  it. 

MISS   SMITH 

(Into  phone.) 

Yes,  madame  will  be  there.  Yes,  parole 
d'honneur — go  ahead  and  make  the  arrange 
ments.  Oh,  all  right,  all  right. 

LISA 

(On  her  feet — raising  her  glass.) 
Brindisi!   To  life,  that  outruns  Chance  and 
in 


Enter  Madame 

Love  and  Death !    To  Life  the  Winner  of  the 
Race! 

GERALD 

Le  morituri  Salutamus ! 

LISA 

Ah  la!  la!  not  so!  Brindisi!  to  my  husband 
and  his  wife ! 

JOHN 

(Raising  his  glass.) 
To  my  wonderful  mother! 

GERALD 

(Rises.) 

Let's  get  Archimede  in  and  have  the  anvil 
chorus  for  the  last  time. 

FLORA 

Dear  me,  I  feel  as  if  I  were  at  a  funeral, 
with  all  these  last  rites. 

GERALD 

Oh  I  don't  mean  the  Miserere!  just  the 
anvil   chorus — Archimede   makes   a  ripping 

112 


"To  Life,  that  outruns  Chance  and  Love  and  Death!  To  Life,  the 
winner  of  the  race!  " 


Act  II 

noise!  Archimede  you  old  scoundrel  come 
here. 

BICE 

(Running  to  door.) 
Vieni,  Archimede. 

GERALD 

Are  you  in  voice,  Bice?    Bice's  got  a  grand 
voice,  wait  till  you  hear  her. 

(Enter  ARCHIMEDE.) 

Here,  Archimede,  old  boy,  have  a  liqueur — 
and  you  too,  Bice.  Everybody — raise  glasses ! 
To  the  virtuoso  of  the  gas  range  our  noble 
Archimede ! 

EVERYONE 

Bravo!     Viva! 

GERALD 

To  our  Bice !    Long  may  her  tongue  wag ! 

EVERYONE 

Viva! 

US 


Enter  Madame 

GERALD 

To  life.     May  its  memories  be  gentle,  its 
actualities  charming,  its  anticipations  keen. 

LISA 

The  anvil  chorus  then 


(They  all  sing  it  together — all  except 
FLORA,  knocking  on  the  glasses  and 
plates  and  bottles  for  the  noise  of  the 
anvils.  The  old  song,  the  old  memories 
sadden  LISA,  she  cannot  join.  GERALD 
sees  it.) 

GERALD 

Stop,  stop !    We  are  not  in  voice  tonight. 

DOCTOR 

I  always  suffer  from  catarrah  in  this  coun 
try  of  yours. 

(Rising.) 

Now  Madame,  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me,  it 
is  getting  late  and  if  we  leave  tomorrow  there 
is  much  I  must  do. 

114 


Act  II 

LISA 

Buona  notte,  Dottore. 

DOCTOR 

Buona  notte,  Signora. 

GERALD 

Hope  to  see  you  again  doctor. 

DOCTOR 

Oh,  without   a  doubt — goodnight,  Signor 
Giovanni ! 

(Down  C.  to  JOHN.) 

You  will  be  a  married  man  the  next  time  we 
meet.    Goodnight,  Ladies. 
(Exits  bowing.} 

MISS   SMITH 

I'll  go  finish  those  letters,  Madame,  and  ar 
range  for  tomorrow.     Goodnight,  goodnight. 
(Exit.) 

JOHN 

(Rises  and  goes  to  LISA.) 
It's  getting  awfully  late  for  Aline  to  be  up. 


Enter  Madame 

I  better  take  her  home — do  you  want  me  to 
come  back  here  afterwards?  Do  you  need 
me? 

LISA 

No,  my  darling,  but  come  tomorrow  and 

bring  Aline.    I  may  need  you  then 

(As  they  are  talking  BICE  and  ARCHI- 
MEDE  move  the  chairs  back,  clear  the 
dishes,  and  put  the  room  in  order. 
They,  however,  according  to  foreign 
custom  leave  the  glasses  and  bottles 
of  wine  on  the  table.) 

JOHN 

Come    Aline,    put    your    things    on — it's 
awfully  late. 

ALINE 

No,  it's  not  late,  Johnnie,  surely  you  aren't 
going  to 

(Coming  down  C.  to  front  of  table  to  meet 

LISA.) 

leave  your  mother  so  early  on  her  last  night? 
116 


Act  II 

LISA 

He  brings  you  again  tomorrow,  dear  baby. 
He  shall  bring  you  early,  very  well !  at  dawn — 
come  at  eleven  o'clock  John!  Bice,  bring 
Aline's  cloak!  I  shall  be  back  here  for  your 
wedding  my  little  swallow.  I  shall  help  you 
to  build  your  little  nest.  In  the  meantime, 
wear  this  necklace  for  me — the  pearls  seem  a 
little  dull — that  is  because  I  am  not  always  hap 
py — pearls  are  like  that — on  your  breast  they 
will  soon  shine  again.  To  think  I  shall  be  your 
mother  so  soon ! 

GERALD 

Oh,  they  are  awfully  young,  Lisa !  It's  too 
soon  to  talk  that  way ! 

LISA 

I  am  not  sure,  Gerald,  perhaps  if  they  grow 
up  together,  they  will  grow  like  a  tree  into  one 
strong  stem  that  cannot  be  divided. 

GERALD 

(Rises.) 

Well,  it's  not  a  bad  idea,  a  tree  can't  pick 


Enter  Madame 

up  its  roots  and  take  the  next  steamer  to 
South  America — or  the  first  damned  place 
that  comes  into  its  head. 

FLORA 

Gerald! 

LISA 

Goodbye,  children,  until  tomorrow.  .  .  . 

JOHN 
Goodnight,  father. 

GERALD 

See  here,   when   are  you   going  back  to 
college? 

JOHN 
As  soon  as  mother's  gone. 

GERALD 

See  that  you  go  back  tomorrow.    You've 
loafed  long  enough. 

118 


Act  II 

JOHN 

All  right,  sir — goodnight. 

(Exit  with  ALINE  and  BICE  following.) 

GERALD 

Damn  slacker. 

LISA 

I  am  glad  to  see  him  play  a  little,  he  is  sucn 
an  old  sober  sides. 

GERALD 

Puts  on  airs,  needs  taking  down  a  peg  or 
two,  the  young  cub. 

LISA 

Don't  let  him  work  too  hard,  Gerald. 

GERALD 

I'd  like  to  talk  to  you  about  him,  and — and 
.  .  .  other  things  as  well,  why  the  deuce 
must  you  run  down  to  Buenos  Ayres ! 

LISA 

Why  not !  I  shall  earn  a  lot  of  money  there, 
you  know. 

119 


Enter  Madame 
GERALD 

You  know  I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  talk 
business  to  you.  You  wouldn't  let  my  lawyer 
do  it. 

LISA 

And  I  will  not  let  you  do  it  either,  Gerald. 
I  cannot  talk  business  to  any  one.  It  is  too 
depressing.  Look  at  poor  Flora!  We  must 
talk  to  Flora. 

GERALD 

I'll  take  Flora  away  and  come  back  for  a 
chat  with  you.  I  can't  let  you  go  like  this 
and  you've  been  so  unreasonable  all  this  time! 
Wouldn't  see  me  and  all  that. 

LISA 

I  will  not  talk  of  business,  Gerald. 

GERALD 

Well,  then,  there's  John — John  and  Aline! 
how's  that?  Just  half  an  hour  or  so — you 
can't  refuse  me  that,  can  you? 

120 


Act  II 

LISA 

Will  Flora  mind,  perhaps  ? 

(FLORA  has  been  wandering  restlessly 
around  the  room — hearing  this  she 
stops.) 

FLORA 

(Down  R.  at  end  of  table.) 
You  want  to  talk  to  Gerald,  do  you  ?    Why 
of  course. 

LISA 

(AtL.  end  of  table.) 
Gerald  wants  to  talk  to  me. 

FLORA 

Oh,  why  naturally. 

GERALD 

Let  me  take  you  home  first. 

FLORA 

(Going  to  LISA  to  offer  her  hand.) 
Oh,  no,  how  absurd,  it's  only  down  stairs ! 
Goodnight,  Madame  Delia  Robbia — such  an 

121 


Enter  Madame 

unusual  evening!  I  am  really  very  grateful 
to  you  for  it.  I've  never  seen  anything  to 
equal  it  in  all  my  life — quite  extraordinary. 

LISA 

Is  it  really  so  extraordinary !  Perhaps  you 
think  me  extraordinary? 

FLORA 

Oh  dear  me  yes,  but  I  suppose  you  have  to 
be  like  that,  if  you  were  not,  people  wouldn't 
pay  so  much  money  to  see  you  on  the  stage. 
You  must  give  them  something  different  to 
look  at  I  dare  say. 

LISA 

You  know,  it's  very  puzzling !  To  myself  I 
seem  quite  simple. 

FLORA 

Perhaps  it  comes  from  throwing  yourself 
into  every  part  you  are  doing.  You  throw 
yourself  out  of  joint  as  it  were  and  end  by  not 
knowing  how  to  behave  at  all.  However,  I 

122 


Act  II 

am  delighted  to  have  met  you.  I  understand 
Gerald  so  much  better  now.  I  am  glad  to 
have  had  this  glimpse  into  your  vivid  domes 
tic  atmosphere,  you  are  so  very  original, 
Madame  Delia  Robbia,  I  daresay  you  make  a 
business  of  that.  But  you  have  behaved 
most  becomingly  on  the  whole.  Really 
amazingly  well. 

LISA 

(Meekly.} 
Oh,  thank  you,  so  much! 

FLORA 

The  situation  might  have  been  very  un 
pleasant.  Two  women  squabbling  over  a 
man  you  know, — oh,  dreadful!  Instead  it's 
been  only  the  question  of  righting  something 
that  had  been  wrong  for  many  years.  Now 
it's  over,  would  you  mind  kissing  me? 

(GERALD,  who  has  been  walking  nervously 
up  and  down  the  hallway  up  C. ,  enters 
in  time  to  see  them  kiss  and  leaves  the 
room  hurriedly.) 
123 


Enter  Madame 

LISA 

Delighted !    Are  we  not  wives-in-law  ? 
(They  kiss  strenuously.) 

FLORA 

Men  are  such  helpless  creatures,  that  we 
women  must  take  these  things  into  our  own 
hands.  There  it's  all  over,  what  a  relief, 
aren't  you  relieved  ? 

LISA 

Tremendously . 

GERALD 

(Entering  again.) 
Flora  are  you  coming  ? 

FLORA 

Yes  Gerald  darling. 

(Going  slowly  up  with  LISA  to  exit  door 
where  GERALD  is  waiting  to  show  her 
out) 

Of  course  we  won't  be  likely  to  meet  in  the 
future. 

124 


Act  II 

LISA 


I  am  afraid  not. 


FLORA 

In  the  meantime  I'll  leave  him  in  your  care. 

LISA 
Oh,  so  good  of  you  to  trust  me. 

FLORA 

Don't  let  him  tire  you.     Send  him  home 
soon!    Goodnight! 

LISA 
Goodnight,  goodnight. 

(FLORA  and  GERALD  exit.  LISA  hurries 
to  piano,  powders  her  face  ready  for 
battle.  GERALD  enters  thoughtfully.} 

GERALD 

(Coming  down  C.) 
Perhaps  I  am  intruding,  taking  your  time. 


125 


Enter  Madame 
LISA 

Oh,  dear  me  no.  I  am  a  bird  of  the  night 
you  know. 

GERALD 

(Both  sit  in  front  of  table.) 
A  nightingale. 

LISA 

Of  course. 

GERALD 

Lisa,  I  don't  want  you  to  change  your  way 
of  living,  I  always  want  to  be  quite  at  your 
service  financially,  you  know. 

LISA 

Oh,  money,  Gerald,  I  haven't  thought  of  it 
for  years. 

GERALD 

That's  right,  just  go  on  not  thinking  of  it. 
When  your  money  gives  out,  send  the  bills 
to  me. 

126 


Act  II 

LISA 

Of  course  you  know  that  I  will  not  do  that ; 
now— let's  talk  about  John. 

GERALD 

John's  all  right.  I  don't  think  that  children 
are  the  absorbing  topic  of  discussion  between 
parents,  that  they  are  supposed  to  be.  You 
and  I  never  discussed  John  much  in  our  life. 

LISA 

He  didn't  seem  to  need  it.  There's  been 
very  little  that  we  could  do  for  him.  He's  so 
healthy,  self-reliant.  It  seems  to  me  now  on 
looking  back  that  I  have  often  worried  about 
you,  never  about  him  and  yet  oh  I  love  him. 

\ 

GERALD 

I  know  how  you  feel,  the  little  nuisance 
even  refused  to  have  the  measles.  John  never 
did  his  duty  by  us  really.  I  was  always 
hoping  he'd  get  into  some  mess  or  other  as 
he  grew  up.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you  .  .  . 
well,  God  knows  you  did  your  best.  .  .  . 
127 


Enter  Madame 

LISA 

Yes,  I  know.  I  have  been  irritating,  selfish, 
I  have  never  given  you  comfort,  you've  lived 
in  the  tents  of  the  Arabs  long  enough,  I  don't 
blame  you  for  wanting  to  leave  them. 

GERALD 

Let  me  take  care  of  you  in  the  future. 

LISA 
No  Gerald,  I  can't  do  that. 

GERALD 

Lisa  dear,  don't  you  know  that  it's 
dangerous  to  take  away  all  the  trouble  of  a 
person  at  once?  A  man  can't  stop  smoking, 
or  taking  a  drug  all  at  once.  He  has  to  do  it 
gradually — well  it's  same  thing  with  trouble. 

LISA 

Perhaps  Flora  will  have  some  nice  new 
ones. 

GERALD 

No  hope  of  that.     The  great  silence  will 
128 


Act  II 

close  over  me.  People  will  go  about  saying 
the  same  things,  making  the  same  gestures. 
Peace,  three  meals  .  .  . 

LISA 

(Hopefully.) 

In  America  there  are  beautiful  servant 
troubles ! 

GERALD 

No,  Tamamoto  is  back  with  me — so  there's 
no  hope  in  that  direction.  Let  me  pay  your 
bills! 

LISA 

(Smilingly.) 
Not  a  bill. 

GERALD 
(Rises) 

Lisa,  you  only  do  that  to  be  irritating  and 
contrary.  Every  time  I  think  of  something 
for  my  happiness  it  is  always  the  one  thing 
you  refuse  me. 

9  129 


Enter  Madame 
LISA 

Now  it  is  my  fault  again!  .  .  .  Gerald, 
you  know  I  have  not  forgot  what  you  said  to 
me  the  first  day  I  came  back — that  I  had  been 
only  a  magnificent  mistress  to  you.  .  .  . 

GERALD 

(Sits  again.) 

Oh,  Lisa,  I  would  give  anything  to  wipe  out 
the  words  I  said  that  day  .  .  .  it's  always  so 
when  we  get  together — you  drive  me  to  it,  I 
always  say  things  I  don't  mean. 

LISA 

The  trouble  is  that  there  is  always  just 
enough  truth  in  them. 

GERALD 

No  truth  at  all, — I'd  smash  any  man  who 
dared  to  ...  I  can't  imagine  what  made  me 
.  .  .  Gad,  I  know,  I  remember  now.  It  was 
that  damned  poet  you  were  going  to  marry. 
What's  become  of  him,  Lisa?  .  .  . 
130 


Act  II 

LISA 

There  is  no  one!  There  never  has  been 
any  one.  Is  there  anything  else  you  wish  to 
talk  about? 

GERALD 

No,  no,  I  suppose  not. 

(Music  of  flute  and  piano  heard  off 

stage.) 

(Telephone  rings,  LISA  goes  to  it.) 
What's  that  music,  Lisa? 

LISA 

It's  Archimede  and  the  Doctor.    Allo,  allo, 
oh  Flora,  yes  Flora  he  is  still  here, — you  want 
him?    At  once,  you  shall  have  him. 
(Comes  down  to  front  of  table.) 

GERALD 

(At  phone.) 

Yes,  Flora,  what  is  it?  We're  getting  along 
nicely.  These  things  take  time  you  know. 
Yes.  I'll  see  that  I  get  plenty  of  sleep.  I'm 
not  made  of  cotton  wool.  Yes,  in  the  morning. 


Enter  Madame 

What?  At  ten  o'clock?  Yes,  I'll  be  there 
promptly.  All  right,  you  can  expect  me. 
What?  Yes,  I  am  just  off  now.  Goodnight, 
goodnight. 

(Rings  off.) 

GERALD 

(Goes  slowly  to  LISA.) 

I  must  go  now,  Lisa.  I  scarcely  know  you 
in  this  mood;  no  tricks;  no  florid  speeches; 
no  poetry ;  perhaps  you  are  glad  to  get  rid  of 
me.  Haven't  you  anything  to  say? 

LISA 

No. 

GERALD 

Goodbye  then,  goodbye  romance,  youth, 
adventure;  as  wayward  as  my  thoughts,  as 
graceful  as  my  dreams,  as  changeable  as  my 
desires ;  a  butterfly  with  wonderful  wings,  but 
with  emotion  instead  of  a  heart. 

LISA 

Ah !  How  dare  you,  how  dare  you  say  such 
things  to  me. 

132 


Act  II 

GERALD 

I  know,  I  have  no  right  to  say  such  things 
to  you,  yet  they  are  true.  You  know  that 
they  are  true. 

LISA 

Oh,  no.  You  have  said  it  yourself.  As 
wayward  as  my  thoughts,  as  changeable  as 
my  desires,  I  was  what  you  wished  me  to  be. 
I  was  taught  young  that  my  duty  was  to 
please  and  to  win  applause.  An  interpreter, 
that  is  what  I  am,  that  is  all  you  wished  me 
to  be.  You  could  have  made  of  me  what  you 
wished.  Oh,  why  didn't  you  try?  And  now 
you  blame  me. 

(Lays  her  head  on  GERALD'S  breast, 
sobbing.) 

GERALD 

Darling,  I  don't  blame  you,  I  blame  myself. 

LISA 

Yet  you  punish  me,  for  being  just  me ! 
133 


Enter  Madame 

GERALD 

How  was  I  to  know!    I  am  a  blundering 

ass. 

(Phone  rings — angrily  goes  to  door  up 

co 

Stop  that  damned  noise ! 
(Music  stops.) 

LISA 

(Goes  to  phone.) 
Allo!allo! 

(Quickly  lays  down  receiver  and  shouts.) 
It  is  she  again. 

(Goes  down  R.) 

GERALD 

(Yells  into  phone.) 

Hello!  Hello!  What — yes  I  know  you're 
not  deaf!  I  beg  pardon  .  .  .  what  is  it?  I 
know  it's  late.  You  ought  to  be  in  bed.  Of 
course  I'm  thinking  of  you — what's  that? 
Nonsense,  Flora.  After  all  I'm  alone  with 
my  own  wife. 

(LISA  crosses  left,  gleefully.) 
134 


Act  II 

Well,  what's  wrong  with  that?  It's  true  isn't 
it?  Oh,  by  Jove,  I'd  forgotten — honest  I  had 
— yes  .  .  .  yes,  I'll  go.  Well  I  can't  go  till 
you  hang  up  the  receiver,  can  I  ?  Oh  rubbish. 
Goodnight. 

(Hangs  up.} 

LISA 

Poor  Flora,  how  old  she  is ! 

GERALD 

I  am  a  year  or  two  older  than  Flora. 

LISA 

Oh,  no  we  are  young,  you  and  I  Gerald, 
young!  because  we  still  have  imagination, 
illusion,  because  we  still  see  people  as  they 
are  not !  That  is  the  secret  of  youth.  Yet  the 
world  insists  upon  imposing  age  upon  us, 
because  it  is  respectable.  We  are  the  hope  of 
the  world  if  they  only  knew.  The  irrecon- 
cilables.  But  now  once  more  -the  world  has 
won  and  you  are  going  to  join  the  great 
phalanx  of  the  old ! 

135 


Enter  Madame 

GERALD 

The  hell  I  am ;  come  here  you  imp  of  Satan, 
I'll  show  you  how  old  I  am. 

LISA 

(Runs  upstage  and  around  to  front  of 

piano.) 
The  great  god  Pan  is  dead. 

GERALD 

(Takes  her  in  his  arms.) 
Oh,  Lisa,  listen  to  me.    Say  you  love  me, 
say  you  love  me.    What  are  we  to  do?    What 
can  we  do  ? 

LISA 

(Her  arms  around  his  neck.) 
Ah,  Gerald,  Gerald;  I  don't  know,  I  can't 
help  you. 

GERALD 

(Holding  her  desperately.) 
Say  it  isn't  too  late,  say  it  isn't  too  late! 
136 


,     Act  II 

LISA 

I  seem  to  hear  the  sands  rushing  out,  it  is 
almost  too  late. 

(The  phone  rings.  GERALD  turns 
angrily  towards  it.  LISA  slips  into 
the  bedroom,  and  leaves  the  door  ajar. 
The  phone  rings  like  mad.  GERALD 
grabs  his  hat  in  a  panic.  Then  looks 
at  the  *  bedroom  door,  has  an  idea, 
looks  at  the  phone,  hesitates,  finally 
makes  up  his  mind,  throws  down  his 
hat,  lifts  the  receiver  gently  off,  lays  it 
on  the  table,  goes  softly  into  the  bed 
room  and  shuts  the  door.) 

(Enter  BICE  from  back  with  a  glass  and  a 
small  carafe  of  water  on  a  tray.  She 
sees  GERALD'S  hat,  looks  at  bedroom 
door,  then  quietly  without  fuss,  she 
puts  another  glass  on  the  tray  and 
knocks  gently  on  the  bedroom  door,  as 
the  curtain  comes  down.) 

CURTAIN 
137 


ACT  III 

//  is  morning — a  nice  frosty  sunny  morning. 
A  small  table  is  prepared  for  breakfast  in 
front  of  the  fireplace.  It  is  carefully  laid  with 
a  lace  cloth — a  low  bouquet  of  orange  blossoms 
in  the  middle  of  the  table.  A  profusion  of 
white  flowers  is  scattered  all  about  the  room. 
BICE  and  ARCHIMEDE  are  tiptoeing  about 
arranging  everything,  wreathed  in  happy 
smiles,  talking  in  a  careful  undertone.  BICE 
has  white  satin  bows  in  her  cap,  white  lace 
apron  ornamented  with  bows,  with  sprigs  of 
orange  blossoms  in  her  corsage.  ARCHIMEDE 
is  freshly  starched  and  has  a  large  white  bow 
with  orange  blossoms  on  his  breast. 

/  BICE 

(Speaks  with  elation.) 
Ecco  finite.  .  .  . 

ARCHIMEDE 

Grazioso  come  un  nido  di  colombe! 
138 


Act  III 

(Starts  to  sing  in  a  soft  undertone  after 
few  bars;  BICE  joins  him  and  they 
sing  the  first  verse  of  a  popular  love 
song,  in  as  low  a  voice  as  possible, 
but  with  great  glee:) 

"  Uamore  e  una  catena 
Lamore  e  una  catena, 
Lamore  eu  una  catena 
Che  non  si  spezza 
E  se  si  spezza  Oli!    Oil!    Ola! 
Se  si  spezza  mamma,  nia 
La  si  po  raccomeda 
La,  la  la,  la,  la  la,  la,  la,  etc." 

(They  both  dance  around  the  room.) 
(Enter  MISS  SMITH  with  hat  and  coat — 
she  comes  from  outdoors.) 

MISS    SMITH 

My  word,  what  is  the  matter  with  the  two 
of  you?    Isn't  Madame  up  yet?    I've  done  a 
dozen  errands.    I've  had  a  talk  with  Weiss- 
man.      She  can't  loiter  over  breakfast  this 
139 


Enter  Madame 

morning,  it's  nearly  half  past  ten,  and  you 
two  losing  time  like  this.  What  are  all  the 
flowers  for?  What  is  the  matter  with  you? 
Of  all  the  irresponsible  crew !  Why  don't  you 
call  Madame,  Bice,  you've  got  to  get  an  early 
start  with  the  packing. 

BICE 

(Romantically.) 

Ah,  mademoiselle,  you  do  it.    I  haven't  the 
heart.  .  .  . 

MISS  SMITH 
What  in  the  world  .  .  . 

ARCHIMEDE 

Cannot  Mademoiselle  guess,  it  is  in  the 
air.  .  .  . 

BICE 

You  can  hear  the  whirring  wings  of  the 
little  loves  if  you  will  listen. 

MISS   SMITH 

I  think  you've  both  gone  mad ! 
140 


Act  III 

BICE 

The  perfume  of  the  orange  blossoms — does 
it  not  suggest  something  to  you? 

MISS   SMITH 

It  certainly  suggests  that  you  should  open 
the  window — it  makes  the  room  very  close- 
Ill  knock  up  Madame. 

(BICE  and  ARCHIMEDE  run  after  her.} 

BOTH 
My  God!    No! 

MISS   SMITH 

(Stopping  at  the  door.) 
Why  not? 

BICE 

(Beckons  her  away.) 

Come  back,  come  back,  and  don't  touch 
the  door.  .  .  . 

(MISS  SMITH  walks  away  puzzled  at  the 
frantic  gestures  of  the  others.) 
141 


Enter  Madame 

MISS   SMITH 

What's  happened? 

BICE 

(Whispering.) 
Signer  Gerald  .  .  .  sh!sh!sh! 

(MISS  s.  looks  from  one  to  the  other — 
they  continue  gesticulating  frantically. ) 

MISS    SMITH 

You  mean?     You  don't  mean!  .  .  .  Mr. 
Fitzgerald  is  ...  my  word ! 

BICE 

No  more  unhappiness  for  my  Signora. 

ARCHIMEDE 

And  such  dinners! 

MISS   SMITH 

(Who  has  got  her  breath.) 
You  are  a  pair  of  renegades — I've  stood  a 
good  deal  from  Mme.  Delia  Robbia  first  and 
last,    but — well!    this    sort    of    thing    never 
142 


Act  HI 

happened   before — this   is   too   much.      My 
word! 

BICE 

What  is  it  that  makes  you  so  shocked?  Is 
it  not  her  husband? 

MISS  SMITH 

Her  husband  .  .  .  he's  not  her  husband 
any  more  is  he?  If  he  is,  he's  committing 
bigamy  or  something.  T'isn't  legal,  I  tell 
you. 

(Enter  DOCTOR.) 

DOCTOR 

(Seeing  the  flowers.) 
Ah,  very  nice,  good  idea — very  charming ! 

MISS  SMITH 

Doctor,  what  shall  we  do?  Do  you  know 
what's  happened? 

DOCTOR 

Well  I  can  guess  ...  do  I  not  smell  the 
orange  blossoms,  charming  idea  Bice.    Come 
H3 


Enter  Madame 

Miss  Smith — your  morality  will  suffer  ner 
vous  prostration  if  you  are  not  careful.  She's 
a  wonderful  woman,  Madame.  Let  us  run 
or  they  will  catch  us.  ... 

MISS   SMITH 

What  about  South  America? 

DOCTOR 

Leave  that  to  Madame.  .  .  . 

MISS   SMITH 

But  the  boat  leaves  at  one ! 

DOCTOR 

Leave   everything  to   Madame.     She's  a 
great  general! 

BICE 

Quick,  quick  they  come. 

(The  DOCTOR  and  MISS  SMITH  run  out. 
BICE  and  ARCHIMEDE  are  up  C.) 

GERALD 

0 

(Entering  from  off  R.) 
Good-morning,  everybody. 

(He  is  in  high  good  spirits.) 
144 


Act  III 

BICE 

Good-morning,  ver'  happy  to  see  you  again. 

ARCHIMEDE 

Ver*  happy,  ver'  happy! 
(Runs  off.) 

GERALD 

Well,  well,  Bice,  orange  blossoms  n'  every 
thing,  eh? 

BICE 

Si  Signore,  my  prayers  have  been  answered, 
and  we  are  all  content. 

GERALD 

You're  a  good  soul,  Bice. 

(Enter  LISA  in  an  adorable  negligee.) 

LISA 

Buon  giorno,  Bice. 

GERALD 

(Sings.) 

Ah!    B ella  figlia  dell  amore ! 
145 


Enter  Madame 

LISA 

My  Gerald!  you  grow  musical. 

GERALD 

Why  not?  You  look  lovely  enough  to 
drag  a  song  out  of  a  hippo.  Doesn't  she,  Bice? 

BICE 

My  Signora  is  happy  at  last!  The  saints 
be  blessed ! 

(LISA  sits  at  table  opposite  GERALD.) 

GERALD 

How  will  you  like  settling  down  in  America, 
Bice? 

BICE 
Eh,  what  is? 

LISA 

(Pours   coffee   which   BICE   passes   to 

GERALD.) 

Yes,  Bice,  no  more  opera.  I  have  decided 
firmly!  From  today,  you  and  me,  we  raise 
chickens. 

146 


Act  HI 

GERALD 

Ah,  well,  not  quite  that,  but  Mrs.  Fitz 
gerald  and  I  will  spend  part  of  our  time  in 
the  country  down  at  Bellmore.  You  re 
member  our  place  at  Bellmore,  Bice,  don't 
you? 

LISA 

The  big  garden,  the  wide  house  with  the 
chimney  that  is  always  smoking;  it  used  to 
remind  me  of  a  very  fat  lady  squatting  in  a 
meadow,  smoking  a  pipe,  too  lazy  to  move. 

GERALD 

And  the  peace  Bice  ...  oh  the  peace ! 

LISA 

The  orchestra  of  the  crickets !  Like — a  far 
away  rendition  of  Richard  Strauss f 

BICE 

(With  distaste.) 
Oh  la!  la! 


Enter  Madame 

LISA 

Oh,  yes  Bice,  and  the  brasses  are  the 
frogs.  .  .  . 

(Imitates.) 
Ra!  Ra!    Ra!  Ra!    Beautiful!!   Wonderful!! 

BICE 
We  do  not  go  to  South  America  then? 

LISA 

Certainly  not !    Of  course  not ! 

GERALD 

Certainly  not,  what  an  idea.  Never  heard 
of  the  place.  I'm  going  to  make  a  farmerette 
of  Lisa. 

LISA 

I  shall  wear  what  they  call — over-all — 
that  is  trousers !  So  free  for  the  country.  .  .  . 

BICE 

Like  Cherubino  in  Le  Nozze  di  Figaro! 
148 


Act  HI 

LISA 

A  good  idea!  You  remember  Gerald,  how 
pretty  I  look  as  Cherubino  in  Le  Nozze  di 
Figaro! 

GERALD 

Oh,  ripping,  darling,  ripping !  But  what  will 
John  say  to  all  this? 

(Rises,  goes  around  arm-chair  to  LISA.) 

LISA 

Oh,  Johnnie  I  forgot.  .  .  . 
(BICE  goes  out.) 

GERALD 

(Tenderly.) 

Never  mind  you  shall  wear  what  you  like 
only  promise  me  that  you'll  never  leave  me 
again.  Promise  me  that ! 

LISA 

On  my  soul !    Henceforward  I  shall  be  like 
the  shadow  that  the  sun  casts  now  to  the 
149 


Enter  Madame 

east,  now  to  the  west,  but  always  close  beside 
you. 

GERALD 

My  Lisa! 

LISA 

Into  your  dear  hands  I  place  my  life.  I 
have  no  strength,  no  will,  but  yours.  My 
Gerald. 

GERALD 

My  wife,  my  beloved  wife!     Of  course  I 
don't  expect  you  to  give  up  everything  at 
once,  I  don't  mind  you  singing  at  a  few  per 
formances  at  the  Metropolitan  for  instance. 
(Kisses  her  and  goes  down  L.) 

LISA 

And  at  Co  vent  Garden.  Just  once  in  a 
while. 

GERALD 

Well,  yes — once  in  a  great  while,  all  right. 

LISA 

And  at  Milan,  they  would  never  forgive 
150 


Act  III 

you  if  you  didn't  occasionally  let  me  give 
them  Delilah  or  Orpheus  and  oh,  how  they 
adore  my  Carmen!  Just  occasionally,  is  it  not 
so — my  Gerald.  .  .  . 

GERALD 

(Much  disturbed.) 

Now  look  here,  let's  get  this  settled.    You'll 
be  off  again  before  I  know  it ! 

LISA 

(Quickly — rises  and  goes  to  GERALD.) 
Oh  no !  no !    Not  unless  you  wish,  only  when 

you  wish  .  .  .  perhaps  never 

(Door -bell  rings.) 
(GERALD  goes  up  to  door.) 

BICE 
(Passing  along  corridor  at  back  going 

toward  the  door.) 

I  think  it  is  the  boy  with  the  letters. 
,     (Noise  of  colloquy  is  heard  at  back — 
voices  of  MRS.  PRESTON  and  BICE.) 


Enter  Madame 

BICE 

Madame  is  not  dress.  .  .  . 

FLORA 

It  doesn't  matter — that  will  do.  .  .  . 

BICE 
But  you  cannot  come  in. 

FLORA 

I'd  like  to  know  who's  going  to  keep  me 
out! 

(BICE  backs  toward  door  trying  to  stem 
the  tide.  LISA  and  GERALD  try  to  get 
away,  but  the  panic  has  held  them 
still  in  their  places  too  long  and  they 
are  caught.) 

That  will  do  thank  you.     I  can  announce 
myself — good- morning ! 
(Down  C.) 

GERALD 

(With  bluff  heartiness.) 
Good-morning,  Flora,  good-morning !  Won't 
you  sit  down? 

152 


Act  III 

FLORA 

No  thank  you!     My  stay  will  be  a  very 

short  one,  I  simply  wanted  to  make  sure 

(She  withers  them  with  a  glance.  GER 
ALD   quails   under   it;   LISA   smiles 
triumphantly.) 
(Then  to  GERALD.) 

You    didn't     answer     the     telephone    last 
night.  .  .  . 

GERALD 

I  answered  it  three  or  four  times. 

FLORA 

You  know  what  I  mean  perfectly  well. 
I  trjed  to  reach  you  for  hours.  Finally  the 
operator  told  me  the  receiver  was  off. 

GERALD 

It  must  have  fallen  off. 

FLORA 

Don't  interrupt!     Do  you  think  I  am  a 
fool?    Your  behaviour  to  me  has  been  simply 
153 


Enter  Madame 

scandalous.  Well,  what  excuse  have  you  to 
offer? 

(GERALD  stands  in  front  of  her  like  a 

naughty  child.) 

I  only  wish  my  dear  husband  was  alive,  he'd 
deal  with  you  properly.  As  it  is  I've  put  my 
affairs  in  the  hands  of  my  lawyers.  They  will 
call  upon  you  and  this  lady  who  is  not  your 
wife.  You  cannot  trifle  with  my  reputation 
and  social  position,  and  put  me  on  a  level 
with  a  common  opera  singer. 

GERALD 

Now  Mrs.  Preston  .  .  . 

FLORA 

Keep  still,  or  it  will  go  worse  with  you. 
And  please  remember  that  agreement  about 
a  settlement — I  shall  expect  one  and  don't 
forget  it.  There's  such  a  thing  as  law  and 
public  opinion.  They'll  be  on  my  side  and 
they'll  make  you  pay.  Oh,  don't  imagine  that 
you've  broken  my  heart.  It's  much  better 
this  way.  Do  you  think  any  woman  would 
154 


Act  III 

want  you  if  it  weren't  that  you  are  wealthy 
and  can  provide  a  good  establishment?  What 
do  you  suppose  this  woman  wants  of  you 
except  to  pay  her  disgraceful  debts  and  to 
cover  her  liasons  with  dukes  and  princes  and 
what  not ! 

GERALD 

Now  Mrs.  Preston.  Confine  your  remarks 
to  me,  please. 

FLORA 

(Hysterically.) 

Oh,  I'm  not  through  with  you  yet.  You — 
you — libertine, — with  your  talk  of  home  and 
carpet  slippers.  I  won't  have  to  take  care  of 
you  now  in  your  stuffy  old  age,  but  you'll 
see  to  it  that  my  nest  is  feathered  or  I'll  know 
the  reason  why!  Oh  I'm  not  through  with 
you  yet.  Oh!  no!  you  wait!  You  just  wait! 
Good-day  to  you  both ! 

GERALD 

Phew!    What  a  woman! 
155 


Enter  Madame 

LISA 

(Recovering.    Going  up  C.) 
How  dare  she,  how  dare  she  come  into  our 
house  and  talk  so,  and  I — I  couldn't  answer 
back. 

GERALD 

(Sitting  by  table.) 

No,  for  the  first  time  in  your  life  darling. 
(Laughs.) 

LISA 

It  is  as  if  she  were  the  wife.    I  should  have 
said  to  her :    * '  Are  you  the  wife  ? ' ' 

GERALD 

Darling,  you  seem  to  forget  that  we  are 
divorced,  you  and  I.  ... 

LISA 

Yes,  and  whose  fault  is  it?    It  is  hers!    I 
should  have  said  to  her :  ' '  You  come  here  and 

156 


Act  III 

you  steal  my  husband,  and  then  you  dare  .  .  . 

you  dare  ..." 

(She  turns  and  suddenly  runs  toward 
the  door  to  catch  MRS.  PRESTON  and  to 
say  all  the  precious  things  to  her  face.) 

GERALD 

(Catches  her  and  holds  her  in  his  arms.) 
Come  back  here.  There,  darling,  there, 
never  mind  her.  I'll  pay  the  piper — it's 
worth  it,  just  to  have  you  back  in  my  arms. 
We  must  get  married  now  just  as  soon  as 
possible. 

LISA 

(Absently.) 
Yes, 

(Then  intensely.) 

but  think — think  of  all  the  things  I  could 
have  said  to  her ! 

GERALD 

(Amused.) 

Yes,  dear,  I  know  all  the  things  you  could 
157 


Enter  Madame 

have  said  to  her.     I'm  glad  you  didn't  say 
them.    After  all  she's  been  handed  a  pretty 
rough  deal ;  now  let's  forget  her. 
(Door -bell  rings.') 

LISA 

(JOHN'S  voice  is  heard  off  stage.) 
Oh!  oh,  it's  John— I  forget. 

GERALD 

Don't  let  him  in.     He  mustn't  see  me  in 
these  clothes. 

(Rushes  off  R.) 

JOHN  and  ALINE 
(Enter  JOHN  and  ALINE.) 
Hello,  mother,  is  father  here  already? 

(LISA  meets  her  son  and  ALINE  at  the 
door  to  give  GERALD  a  chance  to 
escape.) 

LISA 

Hello,  darling,  yes,  yes,  he's  here. 
158 


Act  III 

JOHN 

Say  what's  happened  now?  As  I  came  into 
the  lobby  a  reporter  came  up  to  me  and  asked 
if  I  was  your  son ;  he  asked  where  father  was .  I 
said  I  didn't  know,  he  seemed  awfully  pleased 
about  something.  Mrs.  Preston  was  down 
there  talking  to  a  group  of  men,  they  all  turned 
and  looked  at  us.  I  heard  her  say  as  I  passed 
* '  You'd  better  go  and  find  out  for  yourselves. " 
(There's  a  ring  at  the  phone.) 

LISA 
I'll  answer.    I  better  answer. 

(At  phone.) 

Allo!  Yes,  it's  me,  who  wants  ...  I  cannot 
receive  at  this  hour.  Impossible!  What! 
No  I  have  not,  I  have  no  story  for  the  press. 
Mr.  Fitzgerald  is  not  here.  .  .  .  How 
dare  you  .  .  .  what  business  is  it  of  yours. 
How  dare  you  .  .  .  how  dare  you  .  .  .  how 
dare  you  .  .  . 

(There's  a  ring  at  the  door -bell.     BICE 
passes  to  answer.) 
159 


Enter  Madame 
GERALD 

(Rushes  from  room  off  R.  to  door  up 

centre.) 
Bice,  don't  let  them  in. 

(70  LISA.) 

Flora  has  loosed  the  whole  of  the  yellow  press 
on  us! 

LISA 

(Into  phone.) 

How  dare  you!    I  will  call  the  police.    I'll 
call  the  police. 

GERALD 

(Rushing  down  to  her.) 
Lisa  for  God's  sake  don't  talk  like  that  to 
them. 

(LISA  rings  off.) 

JOHN 

(Who  for  the  first  time  sees  his  father's 

clothes.) 

Father,  what  are  you  doing  in  your  evening 
clothes? 

1 60 


Act  III 

GERALD 

(Walking  hurriedly  about  stage.) 
I  wear  them  all  the  time  now — they  are 
more  becoming. 

JOHN 

I  say!    What  do  you  mean  by  that? 

GERALD 

Ah,  mind  your  own  business. 
(Ring  at  the  bell) 

JOHN 

Look  here  sir,  this  is  my  business. 
(Phone  rings.) 

GERALD 

Lisa,  don't  answer  it. 

JOHN 

What  do  those  men  downstairs  want? 
What  is  all  this?  What  are  you  doing  in 
evening  dress  at  this  time  in  the  morning? 

(Then  suddenly  the  truth  bursts  in  upon 

him.    Indignantly:) 
Oh!    Oh! 

161 


Enter  Madame 

GERALD 

Keep  still,  keep  still  and  let  me  think. 

JOHN 

Oh!    Oh!    Good  gracious. 

GERALD 

(Yelling.) 

Bice,  get  Archimede  to  answer  the  door, 
tell  those  men  to  go  away. 

JOHN 
Oh!    Oh! 

(Walks  up  and  down.) 

GERALD 

You  idiot,  stop  saying  "  oh. "  Make  yourself 
useful. 

JOHN 

We  are  disgraced!    Oh!    Oh! 

GERALD 

Shut  up ! 

(Phone  rings — bell  rings.) 
(Enter  ARCHIMEDE.) 
162 


Act  HI 

GERALD 

(OffC.) 

Archimede  take  a  rolling  pin  and  go  out 
there  and  persuade  those  men  to  leave.  If 
they  won't,  carve  them  up. 

ARCHIMEDE 

Si  Signore. 

GERALD 

Tell  them  there's  no  one  here. 
(Phone  rings.) 

JOHN 

You  sir,  go  down  to  your  club  where  you 
belong.  You've  no  business  here. 

GERALD 

Listen  to  him. 

LIZA 

John  don't  talk  so  to  your  father. 

JOHN 

Aline,  you  go  by  the  back  door,  and  run 

home — this  is  no  place  for  you 

163 


Enter  Madame 

ALINE 

But   Johnnie,  what   is   the    matter   with 
everybody? 

(Phone  rings.) 

GERALD 

John  answer  that  phone.     Tell  them  to 
shut  up. 

JOHN 

I  won't  unless  you  leave  this  house  at  once. 

GERALD 

If  you  say  that  again  I'll  thrash  you  within 
an  inch  of  your  life. 

JOHN 

No  you  won't — no  you  won't.    And  I  will 
say  it  again ! 

(Phone  rings,  GERALD  seizes  JOHN  and 

pushes  him  toward  the  phone.) 
Answer  that  phone ! 

LISA 

(Rushing  to  the  rescue.) 
Answer  it.     Johnnie  darling,  please!     For 
164 


Act  HI 

my  sake,  be  careful  what  you  say  to  them. 
My  publicity  depends  upon  them. 

JOHN 

(At  phone.) 

Hello.  Yes.  Well,  it's  all  a  misunder 
standing.  I  am  her  son.  Yes  .  .  .  it's 
wrong,  you've  got  it  all  wrong.  .  .  .  Well — 
well — Mrs.  Preston  is  wrong — she — she- 
she's  joking ! 

GERALD 

You  infernal  idiot ! 

JOHN 

Well — what  am  I  to  say? 

(Into  phone.) 
No,  Madame  Delia  Robbia  will  see  no  one. 

LISA 

Now,  Johnnie  go  down  and  tell  them — tell 
them — oh,  tell  them  anything  but  get  them 
away. 

(Altercation  is  heard  at  the  door.) 
165 


Enter  Madame 

ARCHIMEDE 

Madame  is  alone  with  her  son.    She'll  see 
no  one. 

(Bangs  door.) 

JOHN 

Bice,  show  Aline  out  the  back  door  will  you  ? 
(BICE  takes  ALINE  away.) 
(JOHN  faces  his  parents  furiously.) 
Now  look  here — you  two. 

LISA  ' 

(Phone  rings.) 

Oh  Johnnie,  go  down  and  tell  them  any 
thing,  only  get  them  away.    I'm  going  mad. 

JOHN 

First  send  father  away — it  isn't  proper! 

LISA 

(An  idea.) 

Gerald !    I  know  what  we'll  do,  we'll  go  to 
South  America ! 

GERALD 

Right,  you're  on. 

1 66 


Act  HI 

JOHN 

(Dramatically.) 
Stop!    Listen! 

GERALD 

Stop,  LOOK,  listen !    That's  the  way  it  goes, 
Johnnie. 

JOHN 

I'm  serious!    I  was  never  more  serious  in 
all  my  life. 

GERALD 

Good  Lord! 

LISA 

Quiet— Gerald! 

JOHN 

You  aren't  married!    Don't  you  remember 
you  were  divorced  yesterday? 

LISA 

Oh,  oh  yes,  I  forgot.    We  both  forgot. 

(Phone  rings.) 

Oh  John,  tell  them  you  are  coming  down  to 
them! 

167 


Enter  Madame 

JOHN 

I  will  if  you  promise  to  do  just  as  I  say. 
(GERALD  motions  her  to  say  yes.) 
(Phone  rings.) 

LISA 
We'll  do  anything  you  want. 

JOHN 

(At  phone.) 

Stop  this  noise.    I  am  coming  down  to  you. 
Yes  this  is  Mr.  Fitzgerald.    I  am  coming. 

(Rings  off.) 

(Turns  to  parents.) 

Now  you'll  do  as  I  say.     I've  stood  enough 
from  you.    You're  an  awful  responsibility. 

GERALD 

(Loudly.) 

All  right.    Keep  your  voice  down.    Don't 
shout ! 

JOHN 

(Furiously.) 

Will  you  answer  me  one  question? 
1 68 


Act  HI 

GERALD 

Certainly. 

JOHN 

Did  I  ask  to  be  born?  Did  I  ask  to  be 
born?  Answer  me  that. 

GERALD 

(In  a  fit  of  laughter  falls  into  the  arm 
chair,  then  recuperating:} 
Why,  we  gave  you  the  gift  of  life. 

JOHN 

Oh,  that's  no  good.  That  won't  work  now 
adays.  You  tell  me  if  it's  right  to  treat  me 
like  this,  when  I  never  asked  to  be  born.  I 
didn't  choose  you  to  be  my  parents,  God 
knows,  but  I've  got  to  put  up  with  you  and 
you've  got  to  put  up  with  me.  You  can't  go 
on  living  as  if  I  weren't  here.  You've  got  to 
think  of  me,  and  of  my  future,  and  of  the 

dignity  of  the  family 

(Goes  threateningly  to  GERALD.) 
The  dignity  of  the  family,  do  you  hear? 
169 


Enter  Madame 

LISA 

Yes,  yes,  Johnnie,  you  are  right.  Now  if 
you  will  go  down  and  get  those  wicked  re 
porters  away, — I  promise  that  we  will  do 
anything  you  want,  anything  at  all. 

GERALD 

There  now. 

JOHN 
First  I  want  to  see  father  leave  this  house. 

LISA 

But  he  can't,  at  the  door  there  are  men. 

JOHN 

Well,  he  can  go  by  the  back  door. 

LISA 

(Soothingly.) 

All  right,  Gerald,  go  by  the  back  door,  go 
by  the  back  door. 

GERALD 

Well— I'll  be  ... 
(Exits  off  R.) 

170 

I 


Act  HI 

LISA 

There — there  ...  he  is  gone — Now  you 
go  down  and  save  the  family  honour!  The 
family  honour,  it  rests  with  you ! 

JOHN 

All  right,  I  will 

(Goes.) 

( You  hear  his  voice  outside) 
Here  I  am  gentlemen — I  can  explain  every 
thing  to  you. 

(Outside — door  closes.) 

(LISA  rushes  to  bedroom  door.) 

LISA 

Gerald — Gerald — come, — I  know,  I  know 
what  we  will  do ! 

GERALD 

What  darling? 

LISA 

We  will  elope  to  South  America! 

GERALD 

Right  you  are.     Can  we  make  it? 
171 


Enter  Madame 

LISA 

I'll  send  Miss  Smith  to  Weissman.  They 
will  keep  the  steamer  waiting  as  long  as 
possible.  We  run  with  only  a  few  things. 
The  rest  of  the  baggage  follow  later. 

GERALD 

1    All  right,  dear,  you  see  Miss  Smith,  I  won't 
be  long. 

(Exits  R.) 

LISA 

Miss  Smith — Bice!    Come  I  want  you. 
(LISA  runs  off  stage  at  C.) 
(Enter  TAMAMOTO  from  back  with  a  suit 
case.) 

GERALD 

(Enters  looking  for  his  hat  and  comes 

face  to  face  with  TAMAMOTO.) 
Tamamoto ! — how  did  you  know  I  was  here  ? 

TAMAMOTO 

I  know.    I  deduct. 

172 


Act  III 

GERALD 

(Throwing  his  hat  on  the  table.} 
You  deduct!     Japan  will  rule  the  world 
some  day ;  come  here  with  that  bag,  hurry ! 
(Goes  into  bedroom  with  TAMAMOTO.) 

LISA 

(Entering  with  BICE.  The  DOCTOR  and 
ARCHIMEDE  follow  with  portman- 
teaux.) 

Come  Bice,  Archimede,  Dottore,  you  know 
what  you  have  to  do. 

(Rushes  into  bedroom  with  BICE.  ARCHI 
MEDE  and  the  DOCTOR  begin  packing 
the  things  that  had  been  unpacked  in 
ACT  I.) 

DOCTOR 

We  must  make  the  ship  in  twenty  minutes, 
quick  Archimede ! 

BICE 

(Reappearing.) 

Where      is      the      rouge?  .  .  .     Ah  .  .  . 
eccolo!  eccolo!  .  .  .    Presto,  presto. 
173 


Enter  Madame 

DOCTOR 

Non  lo  so — non  lo  so.  .  .  . 

LISA 

(Entering  half  dressed.) 
My   attar  of   roses  ...  I    cannot   elope 
without  my  attar  of  roses ! 

BICE 

Eccolo,  eccolo! 

(LISA  rushes  into  bedroom.) 

DOCTOR 
Oh — Madonna  mia — what  a  life ! 

ARCHIMEDE 

Viva  la  Baldoria!    Dottore,  we  go  to  Bue 
nos  Ayres,  eh? 

DOCTOR 
Yes!  yes! 

ARCHIMEDE 

Do  you  remember  my  Carmencita,  the  girl 
that  was  ballerina  at  the  opera  ? 
174 


Act  III 

DOCTOR 

Why  should  I  remember?     Perhaps  you 
have  a  reason. 

ARCHIMEDE 

Oh,  la  la !    Let  me  see 

(Consulting  address-book.) 
Amsterdam,     Antwerp, — Bologna,     Buenos 
Ayres.    There !    Ah,  no !  she  is  not  my  Car- 
mencita — she  is  my  Dolores,  oh  la!  la!  she's 
my  best  girl! 

DOCTOR 

(Seizes  screen  and  small  portmanteau. 
ARCHIMEDE  follows  with  a  hamper 
and  they  rush  off.  LISA  enters  in  the 
same  hat  and  coat  she  wore  in  the  first 
act.  She  carries  a  small  dog  in  her 
arms.  GERALD  follows  wrapped  in  a 
large  overcoat.  BICE  loaded  down  with 
hand  luggage  and  TAMAMOTO  carry 
ing  a  suitcase  and  a  parrot  cage  close 
the  procession.) 
175 


Enter  Madame 

LISA 

(Triumphantly.) 
We  go!   We  go! 

GERALD 

Hurry  Tamamoto,  Bice. 

LISA 

(Happily.) 

Now  we  run  by  the  back  door — here  Gerald, 
you  hold  Toto ! 

GERALD 

(Suddenly.) 
No,  no,  Lisa,  I  won't. 

LISA 
But  Gerald ! 

GERALD 

Now  look  here  darling,  you  are  making  me 
do  all  the  things  I  swore  I'd  never  do  again. 
You're  going  off  to  sing — you  drag  me  along 
and  you  want  me  to  carry  that  damned  pup. 
I  won't  do  it,  I  tell  you,  I  won't! 
176 


Act  III 

LISA 

But    Gerald — Madonna   mia.     We    can't 

leave  To  to. 
i 

GERALD 

Very  well,  then,  you  can  leave  me. 
(Sits  on  sofa.) 

LISA 

(Phone  rings.) 
Oh,  Gerald — Gerald — not  again ! 

GERALD 

Oh,  give  me  the  damn  dog. 

(Exits  with  dog  under  his  arm.     LISA 
follows.) 

BICE 

(Standing  in  doorway.) 
Exit  Madame. 

CURTAIN 


12 


177 


The  Dragon 

A  WONDER  PLAY 

by 

LADY  GREGORY 

Author  of 
"  Seven  Short  Plays,"  "New  Comedies,"  etc. 

"Lady  Gregory  has  written  another  really 
funny  play  in  *  The  Dragon/  which  is  her 
best  since  '  The  Workhouse  Ward/  It  is 
the  strangest  mixture  of  ancient  and  modern 
fun  ever  concocted,  and  only  Lady  Gregory 
could  piece  the  thing  together  and  make 
it  '  stageable.'  I  have  not  heard  so  much 
genuine  hilarity  at  the  Abbey  for  years. 
There  are  no  dull  moments  in  this  strange 
conception." — A  Dublin  Review. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

New  York  London 


The  Bad  Man 

A  Novel 

By 

Charles  Hanson  Towne 

Based  on  the  Play  by 
Porter  Emerson  Browne 

Who  has  not  heard  of  this  delightful 
Bad  Man?  For  many  months  he  has 
been  seen  in  the  theatre;  now  he  is 
captured  between  the  covers  of  a  book. 
Here  he  is.  Shake  hands  with  him. 
Get  to  know  him.  He  is  the  best  com 
panion  you  could  find  for  a  quiet  hour 
or  two.  The  novel  is  as  exciting  as 
the  play. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
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7Mar'6llU 


n* 


- 


2  b 


LD  21A-50m-12,'60 
(B6221slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


32048 


